


Until the quiet leaves

by sunwisher



Series: Guns and Roses [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Blood and Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Living Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn? Slowest burn? IDK y'all decide, Strangers to Partners to Lovers, mentions of BDSM, oblivious idiots, shotgun kissing, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-12-17 14:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 116,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21055754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunwisher/pseuds/sunwisher
Summary: “I’m scared that it’s all going to shatter in a second, everything I’ve tried to build up.” Hongjoong prays for the next words to not damn him to a lonely future in his apartment. “I’m scared that I’ll get too attached and it will all come back again.”There’s, honest to God, a world of excruciating pain in Seonghwa’s words, and Hongjoong’s not sure he even understands half of what is being said because Seonghwa is too fucking skilful with his words and too fucking vague, but he does hear one thing, loud and clear like he’s always heard it.Just like him, Seonghwa is scared of being lonely too.





	1. Prologue: The quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> I've got nothing else to say except that listening to Haley's cover of Can't help falling in love and ATEEZ's Mist made my Seongjoong heart go wild. That's it. That's the context.
> 
> Also, uh, add action and secret agents/assassins to the mix.

In a past that felt like it was aeons ago, Hongjoong remembers being in love with the obsidian sky, only the slightest fear in him about the kind of people it brought to the streets, his tiny fingers squeezing his mother’s thin hand as they trekked together from her shift at the supermarket. He remembers silhouettes lining the fences and the barely occupied streets as the clock treaded slowly but steadily towards midnight. He remembers cherishing those moments when he would be covered up to his neck with a thick scarf that smelled like sandalwood and cherry, his body warm and nose pink, feeling like nothing could defeat him, not even the lewd glances thrown their way.

Hongjoong also remembers walking alone, staring at the night sky like a hopeless dreamer, his clothes clinging to his body in an uncomfortable manner, wishing for time to swallow him whole just so that he won’t be feeling this pit of emptiness anymore. He remembers when priorities shifted until he had no time to admire the hours he loved the most, lost in the helter-skelter of his life, doomed to be stuck in a predictable loop.

Hongjoong’s life isn’t the most uninteresting; boring being the last word he’d use to describe it. The thrill generally associated with it, however, it stagnates after a while, becoming an all-consuming void when Hongjoong can’t tell night and day apart, ears fine-tuned to the sounds of daggers and bullets whistling past him, of bones cracking and shattering under sturdy and trained fists, of holding lives in a pendulum and watching it swing, pushing them off of metaphorical cliffs to fall to the hands of Thanatos more often than not.

Hongjoong takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, gaze flicking to the rearview mirror every now and then, trying to keep his thoughts at bay. He’s too tired tonight to revisit his memories.

It’s unbearably quiet until he hears the appalling crunch of something meeting the wet asphalt with clinically brute force and it’s only years of being on this gruelling job and the sheer certainty that he knows the person inflicting the damage that keeps him from flinching violently. He steals a concerned glance at the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time tonight and sees a familiar tall figure walk towards the car. A closer look tells him that there’s something wrong with the way Seonghwa’s steps are heavy. He leans over the gear shift and opens the door, hoping to veil his worry under the guise of being in a hurry.

The black mask covers up the other man’s face and the fact that Hongjoong’s only source of light is the dull glow of two street lamps spaced a little too far doesn’t help matters much. It isn’t like Seonghwa is easy to read even without the mask. Seonghwa pulls the door a little wider and settles in the passenger seat, breath heavy. Hongjoong’s senses are suddenly flooded by the metallic tang of blood and the understated musk of Seonghwa’s cologne. He can see wet patches all over the other’s black clothes as his vision adjusted better to the dark.

_Is Seonghwa hurt?_

Hongjoong pointedly gazes at the still open door and the way Seonghwa is slightly hunched over, eyes staring straight at the glove box and he knows for a fact that tonight will be one of the quieter nights, not that any night or day with Seonghwa in that case, is loud. Tonight, words weren’t going to give him any semblance of relief so he opts for action as he places his hand on Seonghwa’s chest only for it to come away sticky and wet. His eyes widen as Seonghwa sits a little straighter, slightly hissing at the contact.

“Seonghwa, you need to tell me if you’re hurt,” Hongjoong grits out because he feels his vision go a little blurry at the corners and he isn’t ready to face the deluge of thoughts that follow it.

Not now. He’ll have time for that later tonight when he’s lying in his bed and the quiet takes over again.

“It’s not mine,” Seonghwa says after a moment.

Hongjoong’s mind takes a little time to catch up. Seonghwa must realize this too because he sighs and repeats, “It’s not mine. The blood,” he pauses, “it isn’t mine.”

Hongjoong would love to say that he doesn’t visibly relax, but he does. Seonghwa throws him a look he can’t decipher. He feels the other’s gaze rove over the entire length of his body twice before it settles on his eyes again. It’s too dark and he doesn’t know if the other was able to ascertain if he had any injuries, but Hongjoong thinks that Seonghwa looks relieved and it makes something ache viscerally inside his chest.

Hongjoong stares at him, meeting the other’s intense gaze before years of training finally kick in as his hands, now slightly bloody, flick the dome light on. He notices Seonghwa’s hands populated with red bruises and figures that he probably should make the other stay away from cooking and cleaning for at least a few days. Seonghwa’s breathing is loud in the car, muffled pants filtering through the fabric of the black mask and he thinks that what he does next is probably not very appropriate.

Hongjoong cradles Seonghwa’s face with one hand as his other hand moves to pull the strings of the mask to take it off. Seonghwa’s gaze is serious, almost smouldering as he refuses to look at anything else but Hongjoong. He feels a tiny sound escape his throat without his permission at seeing the other’s split lip, fresh blood smudged around them. He lets his hands fall away, fisting them when the absence of smooth and sweaty skin beneath his fingers registers in his brain.

He must throw Seonghwa a questioning look because Seonghwa says, “The last guy punched me when I turned around.”

Hongjoong nods and doesn’t need to ask to know that the guy is probably dead by now.

“Did you get it?”

Hongjoong nods again, the flash drive safely delivered to Eden who had simply given him a curt nod before asking him to hurry back to Seonghwa’s location, noticing how he was jittery and unfocused.

“Eden hyung was worried,” Hongjoong states, making sure to keep his voice from giving away anything else.

Seonghwa looks at him like he sees right through him.

“He promised that this is the last split mission we’ll have.”

The taller merely leans back, his eyebrows furrowing.

“That’s what he said the last time.”

Hongjoong knew that permanent partners were not assigned such missions where one is assigned with assault as a distraction while the other is engaged in retrieval. It’s usually reserved for the teams, but this one had come out of nowhere and none of the teams was available for deployment. The fact that he and Seonghwa have complementary skill sets probably made it easier for Eden to send them in instead of the others.

Hongjoong wasn’t particularly fond of assault and retrieval missions and he had a hunch that Seonghwa didn’t either, considering how the other looked more on edge than usual when they had received news of the mission from Eden. He remembers the way Seonghwa had paused at the door as Hongjoong was picking up the keys from the table, his gaze fiercely protective before he walked towards him. Seonghwa had pulled a watch from his pocket, asking Hongjoong a silent question with his eyes. He had nodded, extending his hand so that the other could tie the watch around his wrist.

Seonghwa had looked at his own watch after, a beep resounding from it before Hongjoong realized that it was a tracker slash heart rate monitor, a product of Yunho’s constant fiddling with KQ’s gadgets.

“Be safe,” Seonghwa had murmured, hands fisted at his sides as if keeping himself from saying anything more.

Hongjoong had whispered a “You too” before locking up the door to their apartment, hands trembling a little from the tension in the atmosphere from the number of words that went unsaid.

It’s only been a few hours since they parted ways, but Seonghwa’s looking at him like he hasn’t seen him in ages and Hongjoong doesn’t know how to respond to this Seonghwa who’s concerned, clearly, who looks a little too relieved to see his partner alive, who looks at Hongjoong like there’s something more he’s supposed to realize. It’s rare that he sees this side of the other because he’s rarely ever so obvious with his concern. This is entirely different from the Seonghwa who is aloof, who ghosts him even in the four walls of their apartment, who doesn’t eat the kimchi fried rice Hongjoong takes ages to cook perfectly after bouts of yelling from Wooyoung and San who berates his cooking skills, who insists on doing grocery shopping alone, who never watches movies with him on their days off despite the palpable look of disappointment on Hongjoong’s face, who pretends like Hongjoong doesn’t exist, looking right through him most days even if they’ve been assigned to be permanent partners since the past eight months.

Hongjoong knows he cares, but he has come to terms with the fact that this is how Seonghwa is, that there’s a possibility that the other might never change from how he navigates through the maze of hot and cold when he’s with him, that there will always be days when he’s invisible to the quiet presence of the other.

He tells himself that it doesn’t matter, but there’s an ache in his heart and San sometimes warns him that he’ll drown if he doesn’t let it go.

Hongjoong doesn’t expect anything, at least that’s what he likes to think, but when Seonghwa stares at him like this, his blood and flesh gains new meaning and Hongjoong feels _alive._ It means a lot to him and he wishes he could vocalize all of this to Seonghwa, but despite how brave he’s in the face of destruction, Hongjoong doesn’t know how to put his emotions first because he’s certain that Seonghwa doesn’t either and because a part of him knows that he’ll take this as it is, that no matter what, the trust he has in Seonghwa will always be enough, that even if he ignores him, he’ll still blindly fall off a cliff if Seonghwa asked him to.

It’s dangerous, especially because Hongjoong is stingy with his trust, but that’s how things are and he can’t help himself when he wakes up to a jacket over him when he falls asleep in the car and Seonghwa is driving, when Seonghwa’s first instinct the moment he senses danger is to pull Hongjoong by his wrist with a bruising hold and shove him behind his tall figure, when Seonghwa stares at the knife as if it is a nasty criminal as he cuts vegetables after Hongjoong cuts himself when he’s distracted, when Seonghwa leans back against the couch and falls asleep, trusting Hongjoong to lock the door, when Seonghwa trusts him just as much but is visibly conflicted about it most days and yet continues to do it just like Hongjoong does.

Maybe that’s what it means to be permanent partners.

Hongjoong doesn’t dwell too much on the implications of the two-worded title which has essentially bound him and Seonghwa till the day they quit; this also means that if Hongjoong has his way, there’s no way he’ll ever leave Seonghwa’s side because he doesn’t want to quit, ever. There is no life for him outside of this carefully-knitted web secured by a handful of people he knows and holds close.

Seonghwa leans forward and opens the glove compartment, taking the first aid box out. Hongjoong wishes he’d let him take care of him, but Seonghwa never lets him help, not even superficial injuries like these, split lips and bleeding knuckles. Hongjoong is selfish though. On days when Seonghwa walks towards him, strides heavy with intention, Hongjoong climbs on top of their kitchen counter or the table in Seonghwa’s room or beds in countless hotels spread across the globe, and he lets the other wipe the blood away, lets him hover a little longer than he’s used to letting people do, lets him breathe in his personal space, never a protest raised, heart beating slightly quicker.

The fact that Seonghwa does it though, that he initiates it even, has always thrown Hongjoong off guard, but in time he has learned to soak up the attention, even the bare minimum because there’s a void inside and Seonghwa fills it when he wants and drains him clean when he doesn’t.

Hongjoong merely takes what he gets and doesn’t ask for more.

He looks to the side, keys still in the ignition, his hand hesitating to start the car. Seonghwa looks back, places the lid of the box in the glove compartment and hands the first aid box to him. Hongjoong blinks rapidly for a moment or two before realization settles in him.

He picks up a ball of cotton and pours some alcohol in it before shifting a little closer to Seonghwa to dab at his lip carefully. He doesn’t hiss or freeze in reaction to the alcohol. Hongjoong knows enough about Seonghwa to expect that. He blows on the wound anyway because he knows it’s not that it doesn’t hurt, it’s just that Seonghwa’s really good at pretending like it doesn’t. Seonghwa’s fierce gaze drinks him in and Hongjoong drowns in his musky scent.

“You were scared,” Seonghwa states like he’s ordering coffee at a cafe, matter of fact and void of any other embellishments which might give his real thoughts away.

Hongjoong pulls away when he’s done, taking Seonghwa’s right hand which has formed a fist. He doesn’t respond for a moment, it didn’t sound like a question anyway, but he knows Seonghwa wants an answer. The taller relaxes his fist when Hongjoong lets his gaze meet his again. He dabs at the crusted blood and carefully applies ointment with as much care as he possibly can.

“I was,” he agrees. Several moments have passed since his comment which came out of the blue, but Hongjoong knows that Seonghwa gets what he's responding to.

Hongjoong lets the other’s hands go and doesn’t say anything else, flicking the dome light off before he places the first aid box back in the glove compartment. He sits straight and twists the key, the engine humming to life.

“I’m scared too,” Seonghwa whispers and if Hongjoong’s ears weren’t tuned to the lowest of frequencies, then he wouldn’t have heard it. Nonetheless, they are and he hears the first confession Seonghwa has ever made in the course of their partnership.

He doesn’t ask what he is scared of, doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. Seonghwa’s eyes burn against the side of his face, but Hongjoong’s not brave enough to ask what he wants to just like he’s not brave enough to say what he needs.

Hongjoong doesn't look at the night sky either because he knows that he's vulnerable under the shroud of darkness and words would be heavy.

He convinces himself that Seonghwa doesn't need another burden on top of the world he carries on his shoulders and that whatever he swallows down, chafing his throat, doesn't matter.


	2. On nights like this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
I'm back with another chapter! Hongjoong has a mind of his own so really, he's pretty much steering the story so I'm sorry about the narration heavy chapters. We'll get to see actual conversations, action and a lot more soon enough.  
Good things come to those who wait. Anyway, enjoy reading!!

Hongjoong focuses on the stranded street before him; barely any vehicles buzzing past them, quite obvious considering how late it was. His racing thoughts lull when faced with the deserted but illuminated expanse before him. Seonghwa had fallen asleep a few miles ago after a rather gargantuan effort to stay awake, slipping into oblivion only when Hongjoong assured that he’d wake him up before they reached home.

_Home._

Hongjoong knows that it’s quite the hefty title for a space they share more for convenience than anything else. At least, that’s the alibi for both of them. Wooyoung always teases him about their living situation when he gets the opportunity to do it, cackling at how Hongjoong sputters to his questions of whether he’d actually be fine with Seonghwa moving out.

He’ll respect the decision, of course, this, he tells Wooyoung.

But, it wouldn’t be easy, letting the other walk away like that. This, he doesn’t.

Seonghwa shifts in his sleep and Hongjoong’s foot lifts a little from the accelerator like it’s a reflex in a vain attempt to make the ride last forever. He should be paying attention to the road, but Seonghwa is gorgeous, a sort of melancholic beauty carved deep into the contours of his face. What’s more, he’s relaxed and Hongjoong is so used to seeing Seonghwa all wound uptight all day, every day. So this particular scene is a welcome relief.

Perhaps that’s why looking at him hurts. That’s the only rationalization Hongjoong can come up with in the starless night.

Seonghwa’s breathing evens out and Hongjoong loses himself in his inhales and exhales. He can’t even remember his own deep breathing exercises ever calming himself to this extent.

He presses a tad harder on the accelerator when familiar landmarks blur past. This is not their first rodeo, but Hongjoong still sighs again, quieter than he would if he was alone, grateful for yet another day of survival.

There have been a few times when the both of them had cut it a little close for comfort, but nonetheless, be it Atropos not doing her job properly or just some fucked up semblance of something called luck or some divine intervention, they’re alive and with the effect that Seonghwa’s breathing has on his nerves, Hongjoong calls it a win.

He doesn’t turn the engine off, parking the car at a spot where he’s certain Seonghwa will have a good view of him inside the convenience store just in case he wakes up because of his aversion to heavy sleeping bouts. He tries to be quiet as he shuts the door, but he’s not as subtle as he hopes to be. Seonghwa shoots upright, body ramrod straight, shoulders visibly going lax at seeing Hongjoong hover near the door, body still folded awkwardly. Hongjoong throws him a wave and pretends like the way Seonghwa relaxes so quickly at the sight of him has no impact whatsoever on his heart.

“We ran out of orange juice yesterday,” he reasons when Seonghwa glances judgementally at the convenience store sign, Hongjoong and the digital clock on the dashboard, exactly in that order.

“It’s 4 in the morning,” Seonghwa deadpans, leaning over and turning the engine off now that he’s already awake.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, turning and walking towards the store with his heart a little lighter. He knows that Seonghwa won’t follow because of the blood on his shirt and because there’s something apparently and inherently evil in shopping for necessities together.

It’s absurd, Hongjoong is aware, but it’s been something Seonghwa has actively tried to avoid with subtle words in the beginning until he realized that Hongjoong wouldn’t take a hint, finally telling him upfront that he won’t be going with him on grocery runs, his voice tight and blank.

Hongjoong doesn’t allow himself to dwell on the disconcerting feeling that had settled in him then at the realization that getting a read on his partner, hell, even communicating or creating a rapport with him would be an obstacle course with its potential risks.

In their world though, it’s the norm. Solitude and painful silences were supposed to be their safe spaces, but he had been hoping to erase them with Seonghwa.

It was naive, he knows, but he was so lonely. He spent a couple of nights after that leaning back against the wall, staring at the city from their balcony, the inevitability of the silence and the cold making him want to close his eyes and never wake up again until another mission order took them away to another continent.

Hongjoong barely resists a sigh in the present.

The store is relatively deserted, the only occupants being a pair of boys who seems to have camped in front of the chips rack and a man who squints at his phone as the cashier rings up his stuff. Hongjoong resists shaking his head when the two teenagers who are arguing in whispers begin a staring match as they reach the cereal shelf.

The cashier looks up and smiles in recognition. Hongjoong nods before walking towards the juice section at the back, picking up three cartons of orange juice, some bags of chips and chocolates Seonghwa likes, a couple of packets of instant noodles and some milk.

He pays with his credit card, wishes the boy at the counter a good morning, feeling sorry seeing the bags under his eyes and leaves with a bag of his purchase.

An assassin slash secret agent doing grocery shopping.

A man has to eat, but he does concur that it paints quite an amusing picture. However, there’s no one on the street to laugh at the inside joke and if there indeed was anyone, Hongjoong is pretty sure that he would have to make good use of his Glock.

The funniest part is that he’s only half kidding about the last part.

The sky is the shade of smoky midnight blue when Hongjoong steps outside. He pauses just out the door, lifting his face to look at the starless space. He imagines for a moment that he’s just some random college student waiting for the sun to come up, basking in the heaviness of his bones from several nights spent cramming and working on papers.

The Glock is a searing presence against his ankle.

When he finally pulls himself down from the clouds, Seonghwa is staring at him from the passenger seat, something like awe on his face, eyes a tad darker, an unmoving statue if not for the subtle movement of his chest signalling a beating heart and characteristically cold hands. Hongjoong doesn’t read into it, doesn’t think he can afford to be lost in a perfect world where Seonghwa isn’t distant. He gives him a barely-there lopsided quirk of his lips and hastens his steps towards the car. He shoves the grocery bag in the back seat and opens the door to the driver seat, feeling a little warm from the silence.

Hongjoong’s always been a sucker for comfortable silences like this.

It’s especially momentous because even as he is being dragged down to the pits of hell with every breath he spends with Seonghwa, ignoring the safety of his own heart, he’s used to dying from the quiet most days with him, but his mind remembers all too well the other days, when Seonghwa’s watching him like this, like he wants to wrap him up and thaw the ice inside him, like he wants to get to know him more than he already does, when Hongjoong is brave enough to look back with a promise of sizzling but comfortable heat, and he _thrives._

Seonghwa leans his head against the closed window and doesn’t steal glances at Hongjoong this time as he puts the key in the ignition. Instead, he stares blatantly and Hongjoong feels the blood rush to his ears, silently praying to the Gods that visibility is low.

It dawns on him then that he isn’t scared.

He is positively terrified.

***

When they finally get to their apartment complex, Hongjoong rummages around in his backpack to find Seonghwa’s oversized hoodie, handing it to him so that the security guard stationed at the entrance doesn’t ask too many questions. The complex’s owners have made some clandestine deal with KQ, something Hongjoong hadn’t looked into too much because a place, affordable and cosy, especially in this part of town was always appreciated, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry considering the small but certain group of civilians who reside there, so he hands Seonghwa his bloody mask, grimacing slightly at the way the fabric is stiff in areas where it’s bloody. He snatches it right back just as Seonghwa is about to put it on.

Seonghwa looks at him with “What the fuck?” written clearly on his face.

Hongjoong sifts through the backpack again, making a small noise of victory when he finds his mask. He hands it to him, opening the door and taking the grocery bag out as Seonghwa pulls the hoodie over his shirt and vest.

They take the elevator upstairs to their apartment on the fourth floor. Technically, it’s Hongjoong’s since he had been living there for the past three years until Seonghwa moved in when they were assigned as partners. He had been staying a little closer to their office in the first two years of being on the job until Eden recommended this place. Hongjoong had taken one look at the balcony and fallen in love with the view, texting the senior agent a simple ‘yes’.

Two days later, he had packed up his life in three large suitcases and fit it into the confines of the apartment that has come to mean home to him.

Hongjoong had never asked Seonghwa about his place, considering how they never really talked about personal stuff, but when Eden had asked them to get a place together if they were comfortable; he had offered that he’d be okay with sharing his apartment. Hongjoong has an inkling about the reason behind his sudden offer; he had glanced at Seonghwa’s longer-than-was-acceptable hair, the defeated slump to his shoulders and the way he had a hard time maintaining an acceptable and civil quirk of his lips and decided that they’d do well together.

That was all he needed to pull the taller, reticent man into his apartment and consequently, his life. He doesn’t know what had made Seonghwa agree though. He has never bothered asking either, not due to lack of curiosity though.

That’s their thing. Existing in a universe where they could stay within their orbits without too many questions. They may not know anything more than what they have observed, but Hongjoong thinks that every tiny piece of information, the slightest quirks, the overlooked gestures, they’re more cherished when things happen the way it happens in their lives.

It doesn’t matter if it causes him pain sometimes, the visceral kind that seizes and festers inside him, because anything, Hongjoong knows, is better than nothing.

Hongjoong is reserved too, shy and awkward with strangers, hesitation clouding his senses and actions every moment he’s not on a mission. It isn’t that he woke up one day and envisioned himself opening up to the taller man, it’s just that he had a hunch, the result of some deep-seated intuition stemming from staying in the shadows for the better part of his life, that he’ll always have to give more than what Seonghwa gave to make sure that the other would be comfortable in their lives, in their space which was inevitably entwined.

Seonghwa stops at the shoe rack and it is unusual, how he seems to be contemplating something. He is normally mechanically precise with his routine which consists of taking his shoes and coat off followed by a straight strut to his room.

The grocery bag hangs precariously from his elbow as Hongjoong toes his combat boots away, the Glock tucked against his sock slipping a little further down to sit snug behind his foot. He puts the pair of boots on the top rack, making sure they are meticulously positioned straight against his pair of red sneakers. He hovers a little for Seonghwa to take his shoes off too, but the other continues to look down at his boots like they’ve wronged him gravely.

“Seonghwa?”

The taller turns his head to look at him.

Hongjoong must have been obvious enough in the unasked question that hung in the air.

What he doesn’t expect is the response which escapes the other’s mouth.

“I got hit by a..,” the pause is torturous, effectively lethal for worrywarts like Hongjoong, “metal stool.”

There’s a frown on his brows as if he’s offended at the choice of weapon for assault.

Hongjoong processes the words and shoves the concern far away so that it doesn’t show. Over the course of eight months, he’s learned to not let every emotion be palpable in fear of Seonghwa withdrawing even more into his shell, adapted to the unsaid certainty that this is how things will be.

“Where?”

Seonghwa frowns more intensely.

“Chest. Back.”

Taking a deep breath, Hongjoong drops down on one knee, tilting his head to look at the other with a request. Seonghwa seems to be waging a civil war inside and Hongjoong nearly stands up, wondering if he’s gone too far, if he has stepped into Seonghwa’s space without his expressed permission to do so, but then, he nods, the slightest movement of assent.

Carefully untying the tightly tied laces, Hongjoong removes the shoes before figuring that he should take the socks off when he’s at it. Seonghwa makes an involuntary but small noise when Hongjoong’s warm hands graze the cold skin of his feet as he’s slipping the socks off.

Hongjoong readjusts the grocery bag and walks to the living room with the intention to not make it too awkward for the other. He takes a detour when he sees the potential flaw in his plan and speed walks to the kitchen to place the juice, milk and chocolates in the refrigerator.

Gaze fixed upon a half-full glass of water, elbows firmly placed on the marble counter, his body is finally relieved when he allows it to unwind from the constant state of hyper-vigilance he puts it in. Seonghwa clears his throat, pulling Hongjoong away from whichever land he was stuck in while he was zoning out.

He looks up to see Seonghwa standing shirtless on the other side of the counter. Eight months ago, this sheer image is an impossibility, so he has no backup responses prepared, no witty retorts, no blank statements, nothing. Now it’s a reality and he feels as if he was suddenly struck by lightning.

Maybe that’s why he squeaks.

Seonghwa shifts his feet, probably uneasy and slightly self-conscious under how Hongjoong is so blatantly staring at him. His black hair is wet, Hongjoong figures he must have taken a quick shower. He also silently wonders why he ever bothered with applying ointment on the other’s hands, but at least he had disinfected it. It’s not like the injuries were grave.

The realization though, that Seonghwa let him do it probably to ease his worries makes Hongjoong feel warm.

Hongjoong lets his gaze rake over the other’s torso, pointedly avoiding how he’s lean but still has awe-inspiring muscle definition. His feet proceed toward the other as his eyes process the large purpling bruise on his chest. He stops a couple of feet away, questioning himself as to what he thought he was going to do. He had known that Seonghwa would need to ice his bruises, probably pop a few painkillers while he’s at it, but he hadn’t expected the other to say what he does next.

“Can you,” Seonghwa pauses, closing his eyes, it must hurt badly, “Can you help ice the bruise on my back?”

Hongjoong must have a blank look on his face because Seonghwa turns around and if Hongjoong thought his chest’s condition was bad, this is worse, his skin looking like it was imprinted by a seal shaped like a square. He stumbles forward to run his fingers along the edges of the bruise, even if his brain screams at him to step away. Seonghwa doesn’t flinch at his touch, only hissing a little as Hongjoong assesses the damage.

Hongjoong doesn’t process that he hadn’t vocally agreed till he’s pulling a stool towards them, but Seonghwa sits on it without prompting anyway.

It must hurt really badly, he figures.

He walks to the fridge and is glad that they have a stock of frozen peas and ice cubes to tackle such situations which were a normal occurrence in their lives. But it’s been a while since any of them have been so thoroughly bruised up since they partnered up. 

He hands the frozen peas after wrapping two packets in a towel to Seonghwa who obediently presses it against the bruise on his chest. He grits his teeth as he does it, jaw clenching in pain unwillingly, avoiding biting down on his split lip. Hongjoong walks to the opposite side of the counter, procuring a towel before putting a few ice cubes, twisting the top of the fabric so as to not let the cubes fall.

He taps Seonghwa on his shoulder in fair warning.

“Yeah,” he answers instead of the nod Hongjoong expects.

Seonghwa freezes when the ice finally meets his skin, only separated by a fluffy towel. Hongjoong feels his eyes sting involuntarily when Seonghwa’s arm rises to halt his movements with a tight grip on his wrist, breathing harsh and pained. He places the icepack back against the expanse of the other’s skin only when Seonghwa regains his composure, his grip easing on Hongjoong’s wrist.

They fall into a rhythm of pulling off when one is icing one bruise so that Seonghwa doesn’t have to be in more pain than he already is.

He can’t keep himself from thinking that if he had been there watching Seonghwa’s back like partners were supposed to, the bruise on his back could have been avoided. He’s aware of the irrational impulse that triggers the thought, aware that he was miles away doing his job while Seonghwa was doing his best to help him by distracting them, but knowing it doesn’t help lull the chaos that erupts in his head.

Hongjoong stops icing his back when Seonghwa puts the frozen peas back on the counter.

Seonghwa grips his wrist again but this time, he pulls it closer so that the icepack is in contact with the skin of his back.

“A little more,” he mutters when Hongjoong tenses. Hongjoong, though Seonghwa can’t see it, nods.

When Seonghwa gets up after ten minutes or so, stepping towards the counter to clean up, Hongjoong smiles to himself for a moment.

Who would trust him if he said that this considerate man could be the coldest person to ever walk the earth?

“I’ll do it,” Hongjoong assures, “Go lie down, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa gazes into his soul before deeming whatever he sees as enough.

“I’ll wake you up after making breakfast,” Hongjoong offers, already preparing himself to be shot down.

“You can’t cook,” Seonghwa points out and he isn’t teasing, memory probably flashing back to that time when Hongjoong destroyed the kimchi fried rice Seonghwa had asked him to keep an eye on.

Hongjoong sighs anyway but doesn’t argue the fact. He’s mature enough to step away from arguments he’s certain he’ll lose, but he also feels a little hurt when he realizes that Seonghwa doesn’t even remember the kimchi fried rice Hongjoong learned to cook, only to be left uneaten by the other every single time.

“I’ll go to the cafe and buy something.”

“Okay,” Seonghwa agrees.

Hongjoong blinks once.

“Okay?” He asks, doubtful.

Seonghwa nods, but he isn’t irritated and if Hongjoong peers a little deeper, he can see amusement dancing around the other’s eyes.

It’s not like this is the first time Seonghwa has agreed to what Hongjoong says, but conversations like these are rare between them, their personalities, Seonghwa’s more than Hongjoong’s, tending to depend more on non-verbal behaviour than actual linguistic signs, not usually wasting their breath on having something as trivial as breakfast be the subject of a dialogue.

It might also have something to do with the fact that Seonghwa’s the uncrowned king of their kitchen when they’re home. They usually get take-out because it’s rare for them to have enough time to spend it making food. Either they’re exhausted from the physical and sometimes emotional toll the job leaves on them or Seonghwa isn’t in the mood to cook, giving Hongjoong a particular look when he unlocks his bedroom door and steps out, a look that says that they’ll have to order in.

Hongjoong doesn’t mind it though. He has been doing this job for the past six years, give or take, and he’s used to the lifestyle it demands. The fact that he has a bed he can call his, a room he can look forward to breaking down in, a _home_, he thinks it’s more than enough, more than what he envisaged, in fact, it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“Hongjoong,” He freezes as he hears Seonghwa say his name out loud, “Thank you.”

It’s a simple utterance to express his gratitude, but Hongjoong reads a million meanings from the other’s gaze, his one hand running through his wet midnight black hair.

After Seonghwa leaves the kitchen, Hongjoong feels his knees go weak for some reason. He leans back against the counter and rubs a hand over his face, the exhaustion sinking in as sleep calls out to him, a rational part of his brain insisting he find his bed. Hongjoong scrambles up and the last thing he remembers is pulling the Glock from his sock and placing it on the bedside table before sleep welcomes him with warm, inviting hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and leave kudos if you liked it!!
> 
> Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!


	3. Mission One: You aren't Ready

“Eden hyung said he wants the report by next week.”

Hongjoong plops down on the chair opposite Seonghwa, the other dragging the set of papers he had set down on the dining table with his left hand, barely even looking at them. He keeps in a sigh of frustration at the sight of Seonghwa’s bowed head, black hair free of product and effectively veiling his face from the world.

Hongjoong wants to reach out and brush his hair out of his view, wants to cradle his face in his hands and ask him to lean on him, trust him to share the weight of the world but Seonghwa is a resolute wall, bolted and barricaded against anything he doesn’t think he deserves.

Hongjoong knows better than to fight a losing battle.

It’s been a week since the last mission and Hongjoong hadn’t given his half of the mission report because Seonghwa was in one of his moods where he pretended like Hongjoong was just a flower on the wall and therefore, unworthy of attention. He isn’t an amateur in dealing with his partner anymore though; he’s a professional at this, both his job and the idiosyncrasies of Seonghwa. So, he had chosen to wait until Eden’s inevitable reminder because, then, Seonghwa could be reasoned with.

There had been an unacknowledged consensus that Seonghwa would be the one who would merge both their mission reports if they were sent on split missions. Hongjoong had gone ahead with the unsaid agreement because mission reports were spawns of the devil and no one but Seonghwa would volunteer without so much as a word to take such a tedious task upon his shoulders.

Hongjoong hadn’t agreed only because of having one less burden on his list though. There was yet another reason which had came to his attention after his first mission with Seonghwa that when his partner had something to concentrate on, he would get so engrossed in it that he wasn't left with time to think about whatever things have been burning him from the ground up for only God knows how long.

Hongjoong shouldn’t care so much but it’s in his nature and it’s almost like Seonghwa has a spell on him, not that he’s complaining. Honestly, if he’s given a chance again, despite the pain, the desperation and the worry, despite all of that, he’d still choose him.

Over and over again until he couldn’t anymore.

“I haven’t been picking up his calls,” Seonghwa says, his voice scarily stable for someone Hongjoong is certain hasn’t said anything in the past week. There had been the occasional grunts which could have been agreement or disapproval when he would ask about take-out because hoping that Seonghwa would cook in the state he is in would have been foolish but other than that, there had been nothing.

“I know, he told me,” Hongjoong says, careful.

Seonghwa looks up and Hongjoong meets his gaze dead-on, even as his eyes threaten to flitter down to the other’s mostly healed but still busted lip. Seonghwa’s eyes are bloodshot, eyelids swollen and face blank.

It’s nothing Hongjoong isn’t used to though.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong pauses, trying to scope out if the timing is right for what he’s about to say next but the other man is a blank slate, like he always tends to be.

Hongjoong feels like a fool for expecting something different this time, his mind chastising him for not paying attention to the rational side.

Seonghwa leans back on the chair as if in a gesture of _go ahead_.

“San called me two days ago. Remember the job Wooyoung went on last year?”

There’s no such thing as remembering though, not when it’s still clear as day in their minds.

Seonghwa nods, sharing the emotion and it’s a little tense probably from the highlight reel that has started playing in his mind of what is perhaps one of the scariest nights on the job for not just San but also the both of them. Hongjoong doesn’t continue because he needs to take a breath to stop his anger from flaring up at the sheer thought of the mess that Wooyoung’s solo mission was.

“The one when his cover was blown?” Seonghwa asks, anyway, just for confirmation, like he wants to pretend like it’s an everyday thing, like he doesn’t want to show he cares.

Hongjoong takes a deep breath and nods. He’s grateful that Seonghwa leaves out the gory details like the state Wooyoung was in when San had finally convinced the agency that something had gone terribly wrong.

“There’s a similar mission which is supposed to be routed to Wooyoung and San this time but San doesn’t think Wooyoung is quite ready to take on something like that again, at least not yet.”

Seonghwa leans forward in his seat, fists clenching at what Hongjoong knows has anything and everything to do with KQ’s negligence of their agents’ mental health and well-being.

They didn’t sign up for being pampered for though. Nor do they expect it from them. Those are probably the reasons why neither he nor Seongha has raised even so much as a finger against their agency.

“What does San want us to do then?”

It had been Jongho, one of their interns, who had leaked the details about the new mission to San as soon as he stumbled upon them while working on the mission requests. If someone like Jongho with his thick skin and unfazeable attitude felt like Wooyoung wouldn’t be able to take on such a mission again, at least, not so soon, and if he cared enough to warn San, then Hongjoong knows to read into the unmentioned variables, as vague as they may be. San had pleaded on the phone even if Hongjoong had no intention of putting Wooyoung’s life on the line like that again.

Hongjoong doesn’t hesitate.

“He asked if we could submit a request to do it.”

Seonghwa stares at him for a long minute, the stillness of the other man making it seem like he isn’t even breathing.

“Would you be fine with that? We haven’t…” Seonghwa trails off before seemingly deciding that he’ll continue, “We haven’t gone on missions like that together.”

Hongjoong is aware of that fact and he’s not going to lie to himself and say that he’s a hundred per cent certain that they’ll nail this job, without any damages, especially considering that they don’t know the nitty-gritty details going into it, but Wooyoung’s trembling figure, the way he still seizes up before relaxing when San so much as hugs him without preamble, how even the slightest touch in a crowd makes him anxious, all of that is enough for him to not let the younger man go on a job like that again, not when he’s alive and can do something about it.

“He’s like my brother. There’s not a lot of things I wouldn’t do for him.”

Wooyoung is fully capable but one wrong step and things could tumble down the _fucked_ lane and if the mission is anything like the last time, then it will only become a sick and twisted repeat, so yes, Hongjoong will take it as it is.

With or without Seonghwa.

His partner doesn’t have any reason to do this for Wooyoung and Hongjoong wonders if it’s too much to ask of him even if a part of him has decided that he’ll fight for this mission assignment if that’s what it takes.

“Will you be okay though? I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to, especially not when it isn’t even a job we were assigned,” Hongjoong says and finds himself meaning it.

Seonghwa blinks twice, his hands twitching as they absentmindedly thumb the edges of Hongjoong’s mission report.

“Then who would you go with?”

Hongjoong doesn’t miss a beat. He was prepared for such a situation too. San had discussed it with him after all.

“San. I’d go with San. He really doesn’t want Wooyoung to do this.”

Seonghwa gives him a meaningful look, one Hongjoong fails to decipher, as he gets up from his chair and walks to his room without any explanation. Hongjoong feels lost, worry filling in the spaces where he was only a little tense moments ago, unsure of what the taller wants to convey with this clear dismissal.

Had Seonghwa felt like Hongjoong preferred to go with San? Had he felt offended? Or was it something else?

“Seonghwa, I…”

Seonghwa halts in his tracks, making Hongjoong pause.

“I’m going to call San and let him know we’re in.”

Hongjoong gapes at the taller man with his jaw wide open for a moment too long before he closes it.

If there is anything Hongjoong will never get used to, it’s how Seonghwa throws him for a loop when he least expects it.

He can’t say he hates it though even if it’s terrifying to know that the outcomes never failed in pushing him even further down the rabbit's hole he had no intention to go down in the first place.

When Seonghwa steps away from the balcony a few minutes later, the phone still attached to his ear as he mumbles a farewell to San, Hongjoong can immediately tell that the other has something to say.

“Hongjoong, if you think that I’d let you go on any mission with anyone but me, any at all, I need you to take a moment and reflect.”

It’s a loaded statement; head cocked, gun ready, safety off, dagger against your throat kind of statement.

Hongjoong stares. There’s a part of him that’s already bristling with anger too because how _dare_ Seonghwa say that when he has felt alone for the majority of the time they’ve spent together, when he’d been treated like he didn’t exist for way too long for him to not pinch himself just for assurance that he’s here and alive, when there are stretches of days when Seonghwa wouldn’t grace him even with a look of acknowledgement.

When Hongjoong waits for days for the slightest sign of approval from Seonghwa like a starving dog, when he gets up at night, sweaty and terrified, and just wants someone to talk it out or hold him for some comfort, when he can’t sleep listening to Seonghwa thrash around in his bed and can’t bring himself to move either because he doesn’t know if Seonghwa will hate him for the rest of life for wanting to comfort him.

_How dare he indeed._

“I need to reflect?” It’s not meant to slip out with so much hurt but it does because Seonghwa turns him into this, an emotional fool who’d take anything he gets, as long as it’s from him but he’s also been struggling to wash down the ash that’s choking him from all the back and forth between attention and neglect and he’s tired because he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong, if he’ll ever be right, if he’ll ever be enough for someone like Seonghwa.

Enough as a friend, a partner or something more, something Hongjoong’s too scared to even voice out loud.

So this is months of frustration, a world of agony and so many other things from the one thing Hongjoong will never admit to himself, not even in the mirror of a dingy club, not in a street crowded with people who wouldn’t give a damn about someone like him, not when he’s eye to eye with a gun with no hope for a future, not even then.

He has long since accepted that this is how things will be with Seonghwa, has known that seeing his face every day has shifted from a cure against loneliness even if for a moment to something earth-shaking, has realized that he’s truly and utterly gone so far down that tunnel he had never meant to step into, but that doesn’t change the fact that it hurts.

So much that Hongjoong tears up at random times only wishing Seonghwa would just look at him.

Just once.

Seonghwa must sense the change in his tone because he steps towards him as Hongjoong moves to go to his room, the silence and the words he’s holding down with a rather gargantuan effort stifling his lungs and choking his throat.

“Hongjoong, what’s wrong?”

For a moment, Hongjoong can almost pretend like Seonghwa really cares, that he’s rooted in reality enough for him to not start ignoring him again like it’s the easiest thing in the world. In fact, a part of him knows he does, that he cares, but it’s impossible to trust in it when there’s so much evidence stating the contrary, that Seonghwa only tolerates him, that he never wanted to be his partner in the first place, that he’d keep looking at Hongjoong and right through him like his existence didn’t need acknowledgement.

It all boils down to that, doesn’t it?

Hongjoong and his issues with abandonment and loneliness.

In this anguished moment, he wants to pat himself on the back for not crumbling to the floor and turning into a crying mess.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” he mumbles because he isn’t going to go off when he knows that at the end of the day, Seonghwa is lost to a world of pain he probably will never let him see and therefore, he doesn’t think he can burden him with his silly and petulant worries.

Seonghwa moves to stop him, a hand on his wrist and Hongjoong’s gaze flicks down to the scars on his knuckles from that scuffle a week ago. It distracts him for a moment because Seonghwa had been hurt and Hongjoong will always place that first before everything else, even himself. Seonghwa takes advantage of the distraction.

“It’s not nothing if you’re the one walking away first.”

_Oh._

“I’m glad you notice, Seonghwa, because sometimes, I’m not sure if you even see me,” Seonghwa flinches at that and Hongjoong wonders why he feels a sharp pain even if he’d had no intentions to say something like this but it’s like his mouth doesn’t know to stop once it’s said this much, no matter how small the magnitude is when compared to the castle he has built with Seonghwa etched on every crevice right next to the field of his past and the trauma he’s had to suffer.

_Oh, if only he knew._

“I’m the one who’s always waiting for you to reach out first, Seonghwa, so please forgive me if I doubt if you’d accompany me to a mission even if we’re partners.”

Seonghwa’s grip tightens on his wrist, bordering on painful, his expression contorting to one of sheer fear and then it’s agony because Seonghwa’s eyes glaze over and Hongjoong feels his heart thunder as fear creeps in just like the tightening press of the fingers circling his wrist.

“Seonghwa, you’re hurting me, let go,” Hongjoong pleads, trying to use his other hand to make Seonghwa free his hold on him but it only grows tighter.

But now more than ever, Seonghwa is truly unresponsive, like the wall Hongjoong so often compares him with.

“Let go,” Hongjoong tries again, this time louder and fearful.

Seonghwa doesn’t so much as blink, his gaze fixed on him but looking as if he’s replaying some terrifying memory and Hongjoong forcefully quells the tendency to put his training to good use.

Had it been anyone else, Hongjoong can see at least a hundred ways this ends, none of them with the other person walking away alive but this is Seonghwa.

He can’t hurt Seonghwa.

Hongjoong is nearly losing all sensation in his wrist when the first tear rolls down Seonghwa’s face.

It’s not logic that drives him to place his free hand on the other’s cheek and do what he does next.

“Seonghwa, hey, come back,” Hongjoong whispers and he pushes down the urge to vomit at how affectionate he sounds, ignores the feeling that’s behind it and says it again, caressing Seonghwa’s face with his thumb.

They’re not in a perfect world when the touch of someone who loves you will bring you back from whichever realm you were bound to for life but Seonghwa comes back at his touch.

He comes right back to him with a look of panic, a full-body shudder, a quick release of his wrist and a litany of apologies.

Hongjoong sighs, taking a step back rubbing his wrist to restore circulation and doesn’t remind Seonghwa of the incomplete conversation that’s still hanging in the air.

Seonghwa’s got a trail of tears on his face and he looks like all he wants to do is disappear and Hongjoong feels so lost because he knows he’s supposed to ignore this and let Seonghwa be, that that’s what he wants him to do.

But Hongjoong is wrong this time.

“I do see you,” Seonghwa croaks when Hongjoong turns to his room, “I’m trying to sort some things out but I do, I do see you.”

Hongjoong turns back around, an offer of help on the tip of his tongue, a reassurance inside the circle of his arms. This is the first time Seonghwa has admitted this and it should feel like a step up but it’s only making Hongjoong want to curl up in a ball and sob at how cruel the world is for making a man hurt so much that he doesn’t even get to have one moment when he could so much as think that he’s worthy of happiness.

“I’m scared that it’s all going to shatter in a second, everything I’ve tried to build up,” Hongjoong prays for the next words to not be damning him to a lonely future in his apartment, “I’m scared that I’ll get too attached and it will all come back again.”

There’s, honest to God, a world of excruciating pain in Seonghwa’s words and Hongjoong’s not sure he even understands half of what is being said because Seonghwa is too fucking skilful with his words and too fucking vague but he does hear one thing, loud and clear, like he’s always heard it.

Just like him, Seonghwa is scared of being lonely too.

And he doesn’t know how to make it seen.

Hongjoong is tongue-tied, feeling overwhelmingly hopeful for some reason. The pain, the heartbreaking agony from minutes ago is muted, it’s there, but it’s quiet for a moment and then, a warm feeling with sharp edges spreads inside his chest cavity.

“I’m not going anywhere, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong breathes because he knows it’s true and because he knows that there’s nothing else the other man wants to hear.

Seonghwa shakes his head in denial.

“No, listen,” Hongjoong insists, “I’m not. I can prove it you by staying, so watch me.”

Seonghwa reaches forward with a hand outstretched but Hongjoong sees the moment he hesitates and he smiles as if saying it’s okay and backtracks to his room, locking the door as he leans against the thin wooden barrier.

It’s only a dragging of his feet but in his mind, Hongjoong is sprinting across a field, away, far away from the castle he’s made for his partner, bleeding feet and bleeding heart.

Seonghwa doesn’t call for him.

Hongjoong closes his eyes and swallows down the urge to rip open the door and go to his partner. He fists his hands in his hair trying to stop reading into the way Seonghwa looked at him like he’s something he longed to have, because he’s scared of how long he’d be able to hold his feelings in when everything screams at him that he’s treading in a glass palace, because he wants to make sure he doesn’t run to Seonghwa and instead wait, as he asked him to in so few words, even if there’s a chromium ball with spikes in his throat and a dagger piercing his heart like it’s angry for working the way it is now.

For now, though, Hongjoong consoles himself because this is already a huge step and even if there’s nothing to gain, he’s got Seonghwa to lose.

And he doesn’t ever plan on it so he pulls up his metaphorical socks, shoves his feelings in a pirate’s treasure chest that’s cursed and dives headfirst into the ocean to hide it, coming back up only to realize that it’s not that easy but not caring enough about that now when Seonghwa has just blatantly stated in his way that he doesn’t want to let Hongjoong go, even if it’s because he doesn’t want to be lonely.

He tells himself that it’s enough, that getting to stay by Seonghwa’s side, no matter what would always be enough.

And he feels jubilant enough in the here and now that he finds himself smiling at the ceiling for an aching moment.

***

Eden doesn’t look up even two minutes after he’s given them a confirmation to walk into his office, seated on the other side of his desk piled high with mission reports and other paperwork. Hongjoong steals a glance at Seonghwa who’s busy glaring at the senior agent like he generally had a tendency to.

“Hyung, why did you page us if you weren’t going to even look at us?”

Hongjoong doesn’t want to admit he’s whining but he’s pretty sure that his tone is a dead give-away. Frustratingly enough, Eden only holds up a finger as he flips to the last page of the blue folder in his hand, eyes skimming past the small font with practised but desperate ease.

Hongjoong mumbles about the man’s lack of courtesy as he pulls a chair and plops down on it with exaggerated ceremony, knowing that if he’s about to wait for the senior agent to give them permission to sit down, they’d stand here the whole day. Seonghwa is a minute late to the party but he must realize the futility of the unnecessary strain of his leg muscles as he resigns himself to sit on the leather chair albeit with much less noise than Hongjoong.

When Eden finally looks up at them, Hongjoong feels a pang of guilt at the sight of the man’s gaunt cheeks. It’s peak mission season especially considering the mafia and underground activity that has hiked due to the change in government so it makes sense for someone who’s working in the higher levels of the echelon at KQ to be necessarily worked right down to their bone.

However, understanding it doesn’t equal acceptance.

“A little birdie told me you submitted a request for the Gangnam mission.”

In true Eden fashion, the man doesn’t apologize for ignoring them for what is close to twenty minutes in the stuffy confines of his office and launches right into the matter at hand.

And of course, of _fucking_ course, he knows about the request within barely 12 hours of their formal submission.

“Yunho needs to learn to keep his mouth shut,” Hongjoong spits irritatedly, “Also, apology accepted, hyung,” he continues, just to spite the other.

Eden only gives him a million-watts smile before it does a complete one-eighty to his serious face.

“Seonghwa?” The senior agent turns to the man in question, obviously realizing that Hongjoong is prepared to speak in circles to avoid providing the real reason behind the request. It wouldn’t have been hard for Eden to figure it out if he knew that Hongjoong was aware of the fact that it was assigned to Wooyoung and San.

Seonghwa throws him a look of question as if seeking permission to divulge the real reason and Eden looks back and forth between them as if he’s missing a piece of information on the interaction taking place right in front of them.

Hongjoong sighs and sends a slow blink to his partner.

“Wooyoung won’t go on that job,” Seonghwa settles on saying, in that cryptic way of his.

Hongjoong smiles to himself as Eden sighs in frustration.

“He won’t or San won’t let him?”

Seonghwa’s gaze turns shrewd at the question.

“Wooyoung is his own person but if San says he can’t do it then we should trust him.”

Eden leans forward.

“Is that why you two took this up?” Hongjoong doesn’t respond for a few seconds but then he decides to say fuck it and nods as Eden rubs a hand over his face, “I should have known Wooyoung was involved somehow.”

There’s a kind of low boiling anger growing in the pit of his stomach but Hongjoong holds it down because he doesn’t want Eden to rip him a new one in front of Seonghwa, not when there’s a possibility that the other man could blacklist them from the mission they requested.

“You can’t protect him forever,” Eden points out, “Neither can San.”

“Maybe not, but we can try.”

“It’s not that easy this time. Yang’s here and he chose Wooyoung for this so unless you want to do a mission aptitude test with him, you aren’t taking this mission from being assigned to San and Wooyoung.”

Eden’s got an apologetic look on his face as he says it but it doesn’t serve to make the situation more twisted than it is already.

The infamous Yang in question is one of the trainers and mission assignors at KQ. Despite being consistently recommended to work in the diplomatic and therefore, higher-paying levels of KQ, the man had chosen to stay in his position as a trainer only because of his long-running sadistic persona, his psychotic streak and an eye for seeing potential. Hongjoong had been fortunate enough to spend only a paltry three months under the man’s tutelage when Eden wanted him to go out for a job with better knife skills.

It might hurt him to admit it but if he’s able to throw a ring dagger straight between the eyes of someone in throwing distance, Hongjoong kind of (_he really_) owes it to the man.

There’s another thing though. Of the bare minimum, he knows about Seonghwa, one of the most important and well-known facts was that Seonghwa was trained by Yang himself for all his time as a trainee.

Hongjoong can see the similarities but it’s hard to draw parallels between a man who was cruel and precise because he enjoyed it and one who was cruel and precise because he was expected to carry out his duty.

Also, he’d rather die than compare Seonghwa with a loud-mouthed scumbag like Yang.

Hongjoong feels Seonghwa’s eyes boring into the side of his face and he turns to face him.

“Yang’s not gonna make it easy on you. He doesn’t like you,” Seonghwa says and there’s an apologetic undertone to it.

Yet another thing that Hongjoong was aware of was the man’s distinct dislike for him especially because he did nothing to hide it and was very unnecessarily vocal about it. He thinks it’s pretty unprofessional but he has found it hard to focus on anything else when it came to Yang. Especially after Yunho had told him that the man disliked him because he didn’t think he was worthy enough to be paired up with Seonghwa. That reasoning just made him even more annoyed at even the prospects of meeting the man but mission aptitude test or hell on fire, Hongjoong really wanted to try his hand at this, as long as it had the possibility of keeping Wooyoung off the radar for a bit.

“Well, that’s not news, you know that,” Hongjoong reminds him.

Eden throws him a worried glance and Hongjoong shifts in his seat. If Eden’s concerned, then, maybe the mission really had something he wasn’t used to.

And if he wasn’t used to it, then Yang would have a field day with him and Seonghwa, more him than his partner.

“This one’s not so easy, Hongjoong,” Eden warns.

“If you’d just stop with the suspense and give me the mission profile, perhaps I can make that call on my own,” Hongjoong suggests.

Eden sighs again as Seonghwa leans forward, his one hand on the glass desk, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm before he stops.

“What he said.”

Hongjoong feels a new kind of confidence fill his insides. Seonghwa’s never backed him up so visibly in front of anyone and it’s just Eden, but he feels a novel strength come alive from within anyway at the gesture.

Eden taps around on his laptop and gazes at them with a look of finality. Both his and Seonghwa’s phones go off at the same time.

It takes a few minutes to go through the mission details. Hongjoong has his heart in his throat and a distinct kind of gag reflex getting triggered at the sheer thought of Wooyoung and San having to do something like this.

They were one of the youngest agents KQ had. He honestly doesn’t know what goes on in the heads of their higher-ups to know Wooyoung’s background and still assign him something of this magnitude.

It’s Seonghwa who speaks up though.

“Hongjoong, this is… are you certain about this?”

Hongjoong isn’t but he nods, turning to face Eden who looks uncomfortable for some reason.

“Hyung, tell Yang to get his schedule sorted. We’re ready whenever he is,” he declares.

Seonghwa hesitates to get up, clearly shaken by the mission and the way reality has just hit based on what is on clear display on the screen.

Hongjoong doesn’t heed his silent request to stop and reflect.

Seonghwa catches him by the wrist as the door to Eden’s office swings closed behind them.

“This is serious,” Seonghwa says.

Hongjoong huffs.

“It _is_ serious, Seonghwa, and that’s why I’m not letting Wooyoung or San even poke at this can of worms from a mile away.”

“I understand and I’m on your side but I need to know if you know what you’re getting into, what you’re consenting to,” Seonghwa’s voice is steady but there’s a certainty that’s missing as if he’s unsure about some aspects, perhaps a little scared of something.

“I do,” Hongjoong clears his throat, “I can do this. If I can sleep with a gun without shooting myself in the foot, then I’m pretty sure I can handle you blindfolding me and calling me names for a week to an audience of some fifty people.”

BDSM.

Out of all the things KQ wanted their agents to do, they picked _that_.

It’s a rather effective alibi but it also requires a shit ton of trust for the agents going into it. Hongjoong trusts Seonghwa but he's also certain about how it won't be as black and white as them trusting each other. They need to do a lot of research on this but they’re here anyway and he knows they need to get this done.

“Yang’s gonna come up with the weirdest things,” Seonghwa says when they’re driving back to the apartment.

“I know,” Hongjoong replies distractedly.

“If you get uncomfortable, you have to let me know,” Seonghwa pleads and it’s _actual_ pleading like he is convinced that Hongjoong will lie there and take it even if he’s uncomfortable and there’s an itch under his skin.

“I will, Seonghwa. Let’s just go home, do some research and talk about this later tonight, yeah?”

Seonghwa runs a hand through his obsidian hair and nods, a barely-there movement of his head as he turns the steering wheel to the right after flicking the indicator on.

What Hongjoong has just agreed to, it only registers when Seonghwa’s hand brushes against his thigh as he shifts gears. He stifles a full-body shiver but he’s certain that his partner notices how he tenses at the touch because he throws him a concerned look in the mirror.

Hongjoong’s heart is pounding in his chest.

It’s suddenly a lot to take in.

Then it fully dawns on him.

_What the fuck did he just agree to?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (teleports)
> 
> The next chapter will see Seongjoong as Secret agents in action! Also, this isn't the only mission they'll have, guys, so don't you fret. I have 4 more planned, and a lot of background stories, so this is gonna be a long ride. I've finally decided on a structure for the fic as well and it's unconventional but I hope you guys enjoy anyway. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and leave kudos if you liked it!! I love feedback!!
> 
> Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!


	4. Mission Two: We're only just beginning

Hongjoong glances at the little girl walking with her mother, a thin, haggard woman who seems like she’s in a rush. The child looks happy though, the innocent happiness that only children untainted by the world can experience, a little spring to her steps as she tries to keep up with her mother’s frenzied pace. He drowns in a pool of dark nights and a gloved warm hand clutched in his tiny hand as a short figure he called his mother taught him to wade through the minimally lit streets.

San’s sitting opposite him, his face a blank canvas, but it’s not the kind the eight months with Seonghwa has acquainted him with. 

This one is more familiar, in the sense, he can tell it’s forced, the skin around the apple of the younger’s cheeks pulled taut with visible effort.

Unlike Seonghwa, it isn’t easy for San to keep this facade.

The younger turns his gaze from the little girl Hongjoong had been staring at through the window of the diner.

“I miss him.”

Hongjoong doesn’t need to ask him to know who he’s talking about. There’s a longing in the black pools of his eyes and Hongjoong wonders why his past self ever doubted if Wooyoung would be happy with the young man in front of him.

“Stop being dramatic, it’s only been a week,” Hongjoong teases with no real humour.

“Seven days, hyung,” San points out as if Hongjoong isn’t aware of the number of days in a week, as if he doesn’t understand the significance of not getting to see his lover for seven whole days.

“He’s coming back tonight though, right?” 

San nods and _ God _, Hongjoong wants to fling himself off a cliff into the pits of blazing fire seeing the way even the mention of Wooyoung’s return makes the younger light up so visibly, the poker face long gone, even his passive stature screaming warmth and yearning for someone he’s been inexplicably linked with for so long.

Absinthe coloured emotion leaks into his bloodstream even if he knows he shouldn’t feel that way. It’s not because he’s jealous of them. It’s because it hurts to know he doesn’t, may never, get to know the feeling of waiting and getting to hug, to kiss the life out of the man he loves, knowing it is reciprocated a thousandfold, a competition, a constant race where you judge your existence on that scale without any harm done.

A life spent just loving.

Nothing else.

Even the thought gives him chills, the feeling making his breath a little quicker, blood warmer and heart pound like an adrenaline rush has taken over without any noticeable inciting element in sight.

“Wasn’t it a kill order? Why is it taking so long?” Hongjoong is pretty sure that the agency usually didn’t send Mingi on anything that required infiltration and it’s not like the taller man needed help, especially Wooyoung’s, if it was a kill order considering his field of specialization.

“Woo said that the target was a sleaze, hyung. It’s always harder to pin their locations when they’re unpredictable, you know that. Mingi decided to throw courtesy out the window yesterday. That’s how they got the job done.”

San’s pride is a palpable thing, fluttering across his sharp features, his eyes sparkly and bright like the protagonists in the animes Mingi is so fond of watching. 

The job is just a job. It’s their duty.

But a man is dead. That’s nothing to pride over and even then, Hongjoong can’t bring himself to chastise San for feeling victorious over something he considers Wooyoung’s(and Mingi’s) achievement.

Hongjoong doesn’t verbally respond, humming and choosing to rotate the coffee mug between his hands, the ceramic warm even if it is only half full.

They fall into silence like they usually do when they get to sync their time off of missions and decide to meet at the diner. Usually, Wooyoung would be there too except for when he’d have missions with others. In his peripheral vision, he sees San open his mouth a couple of times, the table feeling the movement of the younger’s feet.

The hesitation is a dead give-away that it’s about Seonghwa.

“Out with it,” he demands, growing restless from the younger’s perturbation.

“Is he better?” 

It’s a simple question, but it doesn’t have a simple answer. Hongjoong feels his throat seize up for some reason he can’t fathom so he clears his throat, swallowing the invisible lump that has lodged itself between his vocal cords, halting his voice.

“I… I don’t know,” he confesses, unsure.

San has a look of pity on his face. 

Eight months ago, Hongjoong’s ego would be hurt and it would have led him to throw a fit, but after meeting Seonghwa, entire paradigms have toppled, turning upside down without consideration for the status quo. Even he feels bad for himself and seeing his friends, the ones he cares for and loves feel the same for him, he finds it almost comforting. Hongjoong isn’t sure, but he does know that the validation that _ this _ thing, partnership, friendship, work relationship, _ whatever _ it is _ with _ Seonghwa, is like driving a car into the ocean, engine revving like the flame that flares with all its might in ignorance during the moments left before it dies, waves raging, water battling against the foreign object, _ this _ validation is something he’s been leaning on when his head threatens to fill him to the brim with pessimism and hopelessness.

“Hyung,” San closes his mouth as if it’s difficult for him to vocalize his thoughts, but Hongjoong knows he’s just stalling so that his mind gets the time to phrase whatever damning thing he’s about to say in the least hurtful way. 

Hongjoong mentally barricades against a possible blow to his heart. A kick of reality.

But nothing that will ever change his mind.

“He called me in the morning,” San rushes out.

Hongjoong freezes, ears perking up for the next spell of words, not prepared for this particular event.

“It was awkward,” he chuckles, nervous, “It always is, but he asked me if I get worried when Wooyoung goes on solo missions or just any mission without me,” he pauses, looking up as if gauging Hongjoong’s reaction, “I told him that I’m always worried. That even when we’re at home, I’m worried that something might happen to him, that being on this job has fired all my blissfully unaware senses, especially when it comes to Wooyoung.”

“What did he say?” 

“He asked if it was natural. I said that I didn’t care if it wasn’t.”

Hongjoong leans back, muscles locking up in place and refusing to relax even at his attempt to loosen them up.

“Hyung, did something happen? It didn’t seem like he was asking about anyone else.”

Hongjoong shrugs, gulping down the last of his coffee, the drink cold and bitter as it traverses down his throat.

“I don’t know, San,” Hongjoong repeats, a replay of a moment which happened a couple of minutes ago.

San stretches his hand and loops it with Hongjoong’s without prompting. The skin of his hand is dry but smooth in contrast with Hongjoong’s own.

It’s comforting because it’s familiar.

But everything in Hongjoong screams that he doesn’t know the exact texture of a hand he wants nothing more than to hold at least once.

“I never know anything with him,” he utters in defeat.

San doesn’t refute it, doesn’t try to placate him, looking on, eyes a little wet at the edges with what Hongjoong knows isn’t the dust in the atmosphere. He leans forward and uses his free hand to pat the younger’s dyed brown hair.

“Don’t worry about me too much, San-ah. Wooyoung might get jealous,” he says, lightheartedly.

The last thing he wants to do is make San worry when he’s always been so sensible to the worries of others, beating himself up for even the things he has no hand in any possible way.

San chuckles, a little wet sound.

“Impossible. He worries about you even more than me,” San says.

Hongjoong tightens his grip on the younger’s hand, wishing Wooyoung was there too. 

When San stops the car at the apartment complex, leaning over the console to hug him, Hongjoong breathes shakily into the soft but worn fabric of the younger’s hoodie and lets himself remember that even when he’ll have nothing, he’ll have San and Wooyoung just like he had them in the past.

Hongjoong has always been content with what he had all his life, but he thinks that just this once, he wants more, wants Wooyoung and San and Mingi and all of their team, more than that, he thinks he wants Seonghwa with them, not as someone on the side, forgettable and disposable, but as someone important.

Seonghwa is sitting on the floor in front of their couch when Hongjoong pushes the door handle, the other’s eyes set on the door, looking like he’s zoning out for all intents and purposes even as a book lies neglected on his lap.

Hongjoong knows better though.

Despite the obvious attempt to make it seem like he’s been reading, the way his eyes lose the foggy haze the moment he enters is enough to confirm that Seonghwa was waiting for him.

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow in silent enquiry, feeling overwhelmed.

“You didn’t leave a note.”

There’s no accusation in Seonghwa’s voice, in fact, it’s so devoid of everything except the words. It’s a house without a roof, having everything except the one thing that completes it.

In this case, emotion. 

“You could have called,” he remarks in a vain attempt to disguise his surprise and happiness at seeing him wait. 

For _ him _.

“We aren’t on a mission so I wasn’t sure if I could,” Seonghwa replies as if the words are sharp enough to pierce his throat.

Hongjoong feels his expression soften from the careful facade he puts on in his partner’s presence. Seonghwa shifts under the attention.

“You can always call me, Seonghwa,” Seonghwa looks up at him like he’s delivered an emotional tirade instead of a single line and he scrambles to make the statement seem casual, “What are partners for.”

It clearly throws Seonghwa off.

“Were you with San?”

Hongjoong wonders if something has shifted between them. He usually comes home after going out to a dark living room and no signs of life, so used to counting the pair of shoes in the shoe rack to discern if Seonghwa is at home or not. It’s quite natural, then, that Seonghwa’s inquisitive streak is a novelty Hongjoong isn’t used to.

“Yeah,” he vocalizes anyway.

Seonghwa nods and thumbs through the page of the book in his lap, and doesn’t look up again even as Hongjoong intentionally takes his shoes off at a languid pace to give him time to decide if he wants to keep the conversation going.

Hongjoong is ignored for the next few hours.

He isn’t surprised.

***

Hongjoong is browsing through some puppy videos, his eyelids threatening to close of their own accord when Seonghwa knocks on his door.

The other man is strangely alert for someone who hasn’t slept in the past four days, but it isn’t something new to Hongjoong. He quirks an eyebrow at him.

“We have a mission tonight.”

Hongjoong groans, closing the lid of his laptop and setting it aside, his body exhausted, but somehow managing to allow him to stand on two feet.

Was this _ the _ mission?

But they hadn’t met Yang yet, so it couldn’t be, could it?

Hongjoong was going to screw this up _ so _badly.

Panic floods his being, smothering him under a thick blanket of everything that scares him. Losing control of things in life isn’t something Hongjoong appreciates and it must show on his face because Seonghwa shakes his head and cuts his panic off quite effectively like it’s that easy.

“It’s not the Gangnam mission. Keonhee was assigned a kill order with Hwanwoong, but there was a delay in their last mission so they can’t make it.”

Hongjoong feels the panic bleed out, assimilating with the cold air of his room.

“Where is it then?”

“Here,” Seonghwa says, elaborating only when Hongjoong raises his eyebrow again, having regained his composure as best as he could at four in the morning, “There’s a charity auction at the Riverview Hotel tonight, all three of our targets will be there.”

“Low profile?” Hongjoong inquires.

“Not really. All three are mafia bosses. Two are invited. One is planning an attack. Once the third faction attacks, we finish the job and we get out.”

Hongjoong hums. It’s a solid plan and it’s not like this is their first attempt at assassination. The fact that they don’t have to keep a low profile, just hold up appearances for presumably an hour or so before things delved into the chaotic side was a good thing too.

They could do the job and walk out, no questions asked. 

“Yunho will send someone from the office with the IDs.”

Hongjoong nods and turns back to his bed at the tone of finality in Seonghwa’s voice.

It is then that he realises he hadn’t asked about their cover. Seonghwa beats him to it.

“We’re married,” Seonghwa sputters, Hongjoong feels his eyes go wide at the statement, “for the job. Our cover is of a married couple,” Seonghwa barely salvages it.

Hongjoong nods again, mumbling a soft goodnight to his partner and pretends like his heart isn’t beating fast enough to make him struggle for breath. 

***

Seonghwa’s hands find their way around Hongjoong’s waist, his warmth bleeding through the fabric, but his hands are characteristically cold. Hongjoong shivers in response when he rests his palms flat against the small of his back. His suit jacket is ineffective against the onslaught of the mixture of heat and cold.

Seonghwa leans into him, pressing him closer with utmost care, his lips pressing against the shell of his ear. 

It’s easy to keep track of their targets who are on either side of the room like this, but Hongjoong has to constantly remind himself to keep an eye on the middle-aged man in the tuxedo, one of their targets and he doesn’t know if Seonghwa is having as hard of a time, if he’s affected by the proximity as well.

They’ve almost always been assigned shadow missions, mostly reconnaissance and assassinations, no assimilation, no planned blending into a community for weeks, nothing that really demanded to put on a show or assuming a character and donning the peculiarities and caprices of a crafted persona.

Hongjoong had been working solo before he and Seonghwa were assigned as partners to each other and the handful of missions he’d been initially assigned before that which required playing a part, going undercover, were all with Maddox. So it isn’t like Hongjoong doesn’t have experience, but with Seonghwa, other than a mission in Berlin where they had to pretend to make out after a maid caught them while they were packing up Seonghwa’s precision rifle, there’s been nothing.

That was just a hand placed on the wall on his side and Seonghwa invading his personal space, nothing like this, when it feels like everybody is looking at them, whispers going around, men and women mumbling and sending them supportive glances or leering like they can’t imagine the audacity.

It’s a strange feeling and Hongjoong wonders if Eden had forgotten how homophobic their country still continues to be.

Hongjoong isn’t tall enough to hook his chin over Seonghwa’s shoulder so he settles on swaying to the music as Seonghwa spins them around in tandem with the motions of the target. 

It’s then that Hongjoong notices it. A young boy seated next to the bar counter, he couldn’t be older than seventeen, who’s staring at them in awe with so much longing in his eyes it makes Hongjoong shiver in the bracket of Seonghwa’s arms.

“Hongjoong, is something wrong?” Seonghwa asks quickly, voice low but audible with regard to their proximity.

“There’s a teenager staring at us,” Hongjoong states, hating the way his body responds as his hair stands on end when Seonghwa leans down, even more, pressing them even closer to hear him better.

The boy’s decked up in a tuxedo as well, it’s a black-tie event after all and it’s easy to come to the conclusion that he’s the son of someone important who probably thought that dragging their son to a party for the filthy rich in the guise of a charity auction is better punishment than anything else they had planned. Hongjoong doesn’t see a phone in sight and for someone his age, it’s strangely disconcerting. 

Seonghwa subtly moves them in a circle again, so that he’s the one facing the teenager’s direction and not Hongjoong. The woman dancing with her husband right next to them smiles at Hongjoong who returns it distractedly.

“He’s scared for some reason,” Seonghwa says, pressing a kiss into his hair and Hongjoong suppresses yet another shiver, “I think he’s the son of one of our targets.”

“That’s not good. Is anyone else looking?” Hongjoong questions, quelling the urge to poke his head around Seonghwa’s frame and scan the room.

“No, I don’t think he’s looking because we’re suspicious. He’s talking to a woman now,” Seonghwa pauses, “I think it’s his mother. Oh, she’s walking this way.” 

Hongjoong lets his hand fall from Seonghwa’s shoulders, prepared to reach for Seonghwa’s gun tucked inside his suit jacket. Seonghwa stops him, manoeuvring his hands back up to his shoulder and pressing a chaste kiss to his neck.

“Stay calm,” Seonghwa whispers.

Hongjoong wonders if he can feel his heart pounding out of his chest.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the woman’s voice is way too relaxed for someone who means to do harm, but Hongjoong finds it difficult to completely throw caution to the wind as well.

“May we help you?” Seonghwa asks, taking one hand off of Hongjoong’s waist and resorting to holding Hongjoong close with one hand now, thumb stroking the silk fabric of his shirt under his jacket.

“ETA eight minutes,” she says, pointedly gazing at the lack of space between them but without the offensive undertones.

Hongjoong takes a deep breath, but Seonghwa doesn’t react except for taking his other hand off of Hongjoong, moving forward as if barricading him against the woman.

“You’re undercover,” Hongjoong whispers as he links the plot points together. The woman smiles, measured and calm.

No wonder that getting in was so damn easy.

“Could you escort my son out of the room? Our driver is waiting outside,” the woman asks, her gaze steady, a kind of wisdom swimming in them.

“Code,” Seonghwa utters.

“T723KQ98,” the woman replies.

She turns around at Seonghwa’s agreeing nod and beckons the teenager over.

“Younghyun-ah, go with them, okay? I’ll be right out.”

The boy doesn’t put up a fight as Seonghwa nods at Hongjoong and walks to the exit with as much normalcy as possible, trying to keep them from grabbing too much attention.

A black SUV is parked near the exit, the driver, a young man who looks to be a few years younger than Seonghwa and him, jerks his head up at the sound of footsteps. 

The boy pauses a few steps away.

“Kid, you’ve got to go,” Hongjoong says, warning in his voice.

“I just… I have a question,” his voice is shaking for some reason. Hongjoong eyes Seonghwa who merely nods, allowing it.

“Why does it hurt?”

Hongjoong worriedly glances at the boy, sympathy clouding his judgment for a desperate moment. For a teenager who is aware that his mother has a role in his father’s death, no matter how much of a scum said father was, that he has been living a lie for so long, that what he’s walking away from is a night he’ll never forget, the weight must be too much for his thin shoulders to bear.

“Dying?” Hongjoong asks.

The boy shakes his head. Seonghwa sends Hongjoong a mirroring look of confusion.

“Being in love,” the boy corrects.

Hongjoong sputters for an answer. He was so off his mark it’s almost funny. It’s a rather intimate question to ask a stranger too. 

Maybe they were the only possibility for such an enquiry, he surmises.

“You’re in love, aren’t you?” he asks, “I’m asking if it hurts because it does for me. It hurts for me. I can’t handle the looks or the disgust, but I… I can’t live without him either.”

The boy has an earnest look on his face and it breaks Hongjoong to lie to his face, but Seonghwa is right here and he doesn’t think he can handle giving the boy a heart to heart in his presence when they’re in the middle of a mission. 

“We’re just partners,” Hongjoong feels the bile rise in his throat as he utters the words.

“They’ll always keep looking and it’ll always keep hurting, but if you’re really in love, then it won’t matter, nothing and no one except that person will.”

Hongjoong watches as Seonghwa opens his mouth and closes it once as if what he was about to say has already died a painful but silent death inside his throat.

The boy merely nods and walks to the car, the driver scanning him from head to toe before pulling him to his chest.

The story is immediately made clear.

The gun strapped to the driver’s ankle is a safety net, but also a complication and Hongjoong thinks they can solve it if they hold out long enough. 

Seonghwa stares at him as the car drives away, but he stays silent. Hongjoong tells himself it’s just one of those moments when Seonghwa struggles with words and he lets him off without prodding like he tended to do almost always.

It’s when they walk back into the banquet hall that the first wave of bullets swishes past them. Hongjoong instinctually ducks, his hands scrambling to get Seonghwa to safety as well. Before Hongjoong can pull the other man to him, Seonghwa has already whipped his gun out. He has a hand around Hongjoong as he pushes them both down on the floor, covering him with his larger frame.

“Seonghwa, get off me,” Hongjoong grits. There’s chaos around them, people running or ducking behind doors and under tables, bullets whizzing past them and knives lodging themselves into the flesh of the mafia members, the smell of iron heavy in the air.

“A moment,” he mutters with strained effort. Hongjoong cranes his neck to the side. Seonghwa’s eyes are screwed shut as the carnage around them continues.

“Seonghwa,” he calls. Seonghwa doesn’t respond.

Hongjoong has seen Seonghwa freeze before or after missions, lost to the world and its musings, but never in the middle of a mission like this, not for so long.

“Seonghwa!” He yells.

The next thing he knows, Seonghwa is on his feet and throwing a gun to Hongjoong, pulling the black mask from his pocket and wearing it. He walks straight to their target who’s hiding under the bar counter, Hongjoong has no idea how Seonghwa knew that, and pulls him up by the collar, shooting him in the forehead, blood splattering across his face.

Hongjoong flinches and shoves the scene away for later, donning his own mask.

He wades around a pillar and finds the leader of the assault smirk as he stares down at target two who’s lying on the ground, the life bleeding out of his eyes. The man looks up, raising his gun at Hongjoong, but he’s too slow for his own good.

The sound he makes as the man collapses vaguely reminds him of that time Mingi made a cushion stack topple over at IKEA.

Hongjoong remembers the mission specifics and walks around, finding the members of the mafia and some unfortunate civilians in various stages of dying or already dead, none of them having any shot at a second chance at life. He feels movement behind him and he ducks as a foot kicks thin air. Hongjoong doesn’t wait for confirmation of allegiances and shoots the man in his chest just as Seonghwa’s gun goes off near the bar counter.

Four shots later, Hongjoong whistles lowly.

Seonghwa sits on the chair the boy had been seated before and takes a swig of the golden coloured drink Hongjoong guesses is whiskey. His gaze scans over the length of Hongjoong’s body.

“Should we call Eden? Or SWAT?” Hongjoong proposes.

“SWAT is on their way,” Seonghwa rises to his feet, “Let’s get out of here.”

The head security guard is on his phone as they walk out the back entrance. Hongjoong stills, hand going to his gun again. The older man throws them a wave, flashing a black and gold card, a wink thrown in for good measure. Seonghwa is the one who nods at the man before he flings open the car door.

_ Of course. _

Hongjoong curses Eden in his head. 

“The agent?” Hongjoong questions as he takes the mask off.

“Dead,” Seonghwa replies.

Hongjoong feels guilt crawl under the layers of his skin. He hopes that the boy doesn’t dwell too much on it. A small part of him wishes he’d been there, that he was a little quicker so that she’d have had a chance at finally living a real life instead of one crafted out of lies.

“Her gun was in her hand,” Seonghwa mutters, anger swimming on the surface.

Hongjoong’s eyes widen.

“Do you think she grew attached?”

Seonghwa shakes his head in affirmation. Hongjoong clicks his tongue in annoyance.

When Eden calls them up to congratulate them on one more job well done, Hongjoong puts the phone on speaker mode. 

One more to add to their resume.

One more to carry to their grave.

The senior agent hangs up pretty quickly with a warning to prepare for the Gangnam mission.

***

Hongjoong slams the laptop lid shut, cringing at the loud clap it makes, mind immediately flashing back to the zeroes attached to said object when he bought it.

What’s done is done though. No point in mourning over the pain the plastic atoms and his bank account had to go through when there were more pressing issues at hand.

The Gangnam mission was a can of worms, Hongjoong concludes, as he had rightly titled it even before he knew the specifics, after more than half a day spent reading up on the play by play of the mission goals and the background.

The pre-mission report had made it seem like a job for the cops and further discussion with Eden had confirmed it. Apparently, they had lost two promising cops to this assignment, the ring owning the chain of clubs and dealing drugs under the guise of helping people get training for BDSM and actively promoting voyeurism. The owners of the establishment were big names in the drug world, had close links to foreign and local mafias and were generally infamous for being particularly vicious and skilled. The on-mission cops had been found in a box, gift-wrapped with silver foil and red ribbon, the gesture horrifyingly sadistic down to its very core and very clearly a warning and a taunt.

Wooyoung and San’s faces flash across Hongjoong’s eyelids. He feels calmer though, knowing it isn’t anyone else in the agency who’s taking this up.

He wonders if Seonghwa has read up on the mission yet. If he hadn’t, it was time to ask him to do it. A sum of quite the number of particulars had to be discussed before they could even face Yang to attend his test or he would roll them over, especially Hongjoong, with the nearest hefty object, and if they did make it past whatever Yang planned for them, then it would be quite literally a rather complicated sum of two weeks(as per the mission detail which isn’t a very plausible duration) when they’d be expected to handle the pressure stemming from the knowledge that one wrong move could have them dead on the doorstep of KQ or in some garbage truck.

Not how Hongjoong imagines going out. He doesn’t think Eden or their tech guy who saw everything first would particularly enjoy either of those outcomes.

He’s more scared for Seonghwa than himself though because as per the detail, the taller of whichever duo took up the mission was supposed to hold the reins, something about that particular arrangement having more scope to grab the attention of the establishment’s owners, which held some weight because the whole of the mission depended upon it.

Hongjoong ponders if Seonghwa would be alright with handling the reins completely, with having Hongjoong’s trust wrapped with a neat little bow and tucked inside his being.

They have a lot of ground to cover and Hongjoong is completely, yet not at all prepared for the rather rated conversation that he has planned.

When he finally grows the balls to do it after about an hour of serious contemplating with mental flashcards, just in case, Seonghwa’s door is locked. Hongjoong instinctively walks to the shoe rack, turning around at the sight of all of Seonghwa’s shoes meticulously arranged. 

He steps towards the other’s room, takes a deep breath and knocks on the wooden partition.

A drag of a chair resounds in the room and then, the door swings open, Seonghwa scanning Hongjoong before he turns around, trekking to his bed and sitting on it. Hongjoong drags the chair in front of Seonghwa’s laptop, barely glancing at the multitudes of open tabs, all related to the mission in discussion, and makes himself comfortable.

“It’s a transfer job,” Hongjoong begins, not knowing if Seonghwa has got to the part where the document mentions how the police department had forwarded it to the agency. 

“I saw. I went through the mail,” Seonghwa says, the stretched hem of his t-shirt putting his collarbones on full display. Hongjoong swallows and takes another deep breath.

“I… We need to sort some things out, plan properly before we leave or else we’re as good as dead,” Hongjoong is certain Seonghwa knows this, but he mentions it as a disclaimer anyway.

“Maybe we should start with the story,” Seonghwa suggests.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong breathes, “that’s a good place to start. So, uh, I was thinking that we could pretend to be a couple who met in high school. The cliche, you were a jock, I was a nerd. We met, and the whole shebang happened. Then, instant fireworks and cosmic connection. You followed me into university, took up business, and now you’re an accountant. I’m an editor,” Hongjoong takes a deep breath because the easy part is over, “We’re just starting to try BDSM out, you know, like trying to spice up things in bed because we’ve been together for a really long time and variety is the spice of life and all that.”

“It sounds like the plot of a manga,” Seonghwa remarks, a hint of amusement dancing on his face.

Hongjoong mentally erases his browsing history.

“If you’ve got anything better, hit me with it,” Hongjoong hisses with no actual heat, but he still manages to sound annoyed.

“I don’t. This is perfect. It’s easy to make people believe this. It flows well.”

Hongjoong gapes for a moment at the praise.

“Uh… yeah. So I was thinking that your persona could be a bit of a control freak? To tie into the scene and kinda subvert the image of goodie two shoes? That’s what will get their attention. I could be hesitant about being involved, but you know, young love and all that, so I’m willing to try anything for you, that kind of vibe, you get me?” 

Seonghwa nods, eyebrows scrunched as if he’s taking down mental notes and Hongjoong is pretty certain he actually is doing it.

“Now onto the practical part. You’re the dom, untrained and not very informed, obviously, but that will work in our favour. But we also need to show that we know the basics because otherwise they won’t trust us. Eden hyung mentioned that there’s a shop near Gangnam, which is owned by the same ring. We need to start from there. We can’t just walk into the club. We should visit the shop and try to buy some toys, get the attention of the guys on sales enough for them to suggest the place to us.”

Seonghwa nods, but his eyebrows furrow even more than they are already.

“What if they don’t notice us the first time?”

Hongjoong snorts.

“Simple. We visit again,” he smirks, “But I have no intention of not getting their attention the first time around.”

Hongjoong wipes the smirk off of his own face, “The sooner we get this done the better.”

Seonghwa’s expression is grave.

“There have been seven overdoses just last week alone,” he mentions.

“I heard.”

Hongjoong leans forward in his seat, steeling his nerves for the next part of the conversation.

“We’re pretending to have close to nine years of intimacy, physical and mental, so if we have to be convincing, we need to know everything about each other, limits, weaknesses, what we love, what we hate or this plan is as good as a suicide mission. They’ll take one look at us and they’ll know.”

This is their hurdle. He and Seonghwa might be having a productive conversation right now, but neither of them is used to talking like this every day. Hongjoong might know some of Seonghwa’s ticks and the other might know his too, but they’ve spent the better part of their eight-month partnership being distant with moments like this being sparse. 

Going into this mission though, it would need them to learn what gets the other worked up, what really makes them go feral with desire, what throws them off guard when they get physical.

If they get the physical intimacy wrong, then even getting on their knees and begging for God wouldn’t be of much use, they wouldn’t walk out that door.

The realization that if they don’t make it, Wooyoung and San, are the next ones on the list bears down on him. That’s what makes him cast the hesitation and the awkwardness aside.

“I like it when my partner is on top. I like rough sex, but I prefer to go with the flow. No tying my hands behind my back, no dildos. Bruises are alright, but cuts aren’t. Spanking, calling names, slapping, hitting, I’m fine with all of those. I like cuddling in the afterglow. I have an oral fixation and I like to say my partner’s name. I’ve tried only a few of these so if there are any limits I don’t know, I guess you’ll know when we get to it. If anyone has questions, you can just say we’ve never tried it before.”

It’s a few of the most intimate things about him and Hongjoong feels exposed, almost naked under Seonghwa’s dark gaze.

“I like to be on top so that isn’t a problem. I let my partner decide the pace so going with the flow is fine. I don’t like tying people up, but if the mission demanded it, which I have a feeling it will, then I could do it. I’ll remember to not tie your hands behind your back though. Dildos are a complicated situation so, I’ll keep that in mind. I haven’t tried much else myself so like you said, if there’s anything, I’ll ask for your consent.”

Hongjoong is certain his mouth is gaping because knowing what Seonghwa likes in bed is a whole new level he wasn’t prepared for, especially so easily and without prompting. He had figured he’d need to be really insistent for the other man to spill what turned him on, but that seemed to be a fallacious assumption.

“I like biting,” Seonghwa says after a minute of contemplation.

Hongjoong chokes on his spit.

“One more thing,” he adds, “I am not going to do anything just because you said yes in the beginning. Every time we try something new, I’ll ask, and you need to tell me if it’s okay. Consent is a huge deal for me, Hongjoong, so please keep that in mind. I need to know you’re okay to go forward.”

Hongjoong nods vigorously.

“Of course. I know that having so much control would make you go insane so yeah, ask me. Speaking about control, safe words,” Hongjoong pauses, looking into Seonghwa’s eyes.

“I have had to safeword twice with my partners, both of whom acted on it the moment I did. So there aren’t any issues there. If you’re fine with it, we could go with the traffic light system itself.”

Seonghwa doesn’t reply instantly, gaze fixed on the floor.

“I’ve never had a partner safeword on me. Haven’t had to do it myself too,” he looks up, “what made you safe word?”

Hongjoong’s chest locks up at the thought.

“I gagged on a ball gag, my mouth was tied up and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even say the safe word. My partner noticed something was wrong and untied me. The second time was when I had a panic attack, I barely conjured enough breath to safe word.”

It still hurt to think about both those times, but Hongjoong was blessed that his partners, despite being one night stands had had the conscience to stop when he asked them to. It wasn’t even the sex that did it, it was just him losing himself in the labyrinth of his mind which made him freeze and lose all sense of the temporality.

Seonghwa’s fists are clenched at his sides. Hongjoong doesn’t ask why.

Hongjoong checks his mental list and figures he can save some for later when he remembers the mission from the day before, how Seonghwa had shielded him from the bullets but had frozen with his eyes scrunched shut.

“Seonghwa, I’ve noticed that you freeze up sometimes. I don’t know what’s wrong and it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me, but I just… you can’t do that on this mission, okay? We can’t afford it. It’s out of your control, I know that, but if you feel even the slightest hint that something is wrong, tell me, I’ll find an excuse.”

Seonghwa throws him an apologetic look.

“I’ve been trying. It isn’t enough, I’m aware, but I... I’ll try harder,” he promises.

Hongjoong has the visiting card of KQ’s psychiatrist in his back pocket, but he doesn’t mention it, unsure of Seonghwa’s reaction.

Seonghwa sends him a small smile when Hongjoong knocks on his door that night with a notepad of his likes and dislikes. It isn’t a long list, but he thinks it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

He also thinks that it’s completely worth the awkward smile that Seonghwa gives him.

***

Hongjoong wakes up with a gasp, images of a wayward, scarlet-shaded dream making his stomach churn. He tries his best to stabilize his breathing, but it’s a lost cause for a few minutes.

Hongjoong, breathe in, breathe out, he tells himself.

It doesn’t take too long for him to snap out of it.

He lies back down once his breathing falls into a rhythm as he comprehends the slow ballad, mellow and somewhat soft, even though it's not. It reminds him of sepia filters and Wooyoung playing his guitar in his room back when all three of them shared a room together. 

His t-shirt sticks to his body with the sweat. 

It’s a disgusting feeling. 

It’s been weeks since he’s had a nightmare, but this one had been quite scary, a grand comeback, Hongjoong thinks. He figures he can allow his body some time for a bit of respite.

He takes his phone, the screen coming to life as his fingerprint registers. He decides against it when the bell rings twice. Just as he’s about to hang up, feeling like he’s falling too much into the role of an over-concerned mother, the other line picks up.

“Hyung?” Wooyoung’s voice sounds wrecked from sleep.

Hongjoong breathes a sigh of relief.

“Wooyoung-ah,” he breathes.

He hears the unmistakable sound of Wooyoung getting up, covers rustling and when he speaks next, he’s no longer whispering.

“Did you have a bad dream, hyung?” His voice is soft, too delicate for someone who’s seen so much blood and destruction.

_ Nightmare _, Hongjoong wants to say, but he stops himself, nodding instead.

“Hyung, I can’t see you, you know,” Wooyoung teases.

Hongjoong chuckles, a ball of emotion choking him.

“What did you see?”

The dull, yellowish light coming from the bedside lamp is enough for Hongjoong’s eyes to skim over the framed picture of San and Wooyoung placed on his bedside table.

“You, him,” he breathes, hoping the terror doesn’t leak through the signals of their call.

Hongjoong doesn’t elaborate, every blink replaying pictures of a faceless knife slicing every vein in Wooyoung’s wrist, the other’s body tied to a table, screams tearing his vocal cords beyond repair. He doesn’t talk about how San comes sprinting into the room only for another man to grab him and pierce something through his stomach. He blinks and San is spitting blood on the ground, one hand covering the wound on his stomach and the other bloody one reaching out for a screaming Wooyoung.

He blinks again and he’s back to reality, Wooyoung’s voice calling for him.

“I’m here,” he assures and clears his throat, “Sorry, I zoned out.”

There’s silence on the line for a moment.

“I love you, hyung,” Wooyoung whispers.

“I love you too, Wooyoung-ah,” Hongjoong whispers back.

“I’m okay now. You know that, right, hyung?” 

Hongjoong does. He’ll do everything he can to ensure that.

“I know.”

Wooyoung sighs heavily.

“Where’s San?” Hongjoong asks to fill the silence.

“He’s here, he’s asleep,” Wooyoung says, his voice unbearably fond.

“Go back to sleep, then. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Hyung, he told me,” Wooyoung’s voice is small, almost a whisper and it’s drenched with guilt, “I’m sorry I can’t go.”

“No, no, don’t be like that, Wooyoung-ah. If I can’t do this for you and San, then who can I do this for? I’m here for both of you. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Hongjoong knows Wooyoung is nodding on the other end of the line and smiles to himself at the younger’s hypocrisy.

“Night, Wooyoung-ah,” Hongjoong says and hangs up after Wooyoung repeats it.

Hongjoong can’t remember ever loving anyone except his mom like he does Wooyoung and San. They were the threads tying Hongjoong together when he was an empty shell, trekking through academics with the sole intention of getting a job because he wanted to get out of the orphanage and explore, see the world, fall in love, die at sixty-eight.

Then he had met Eden on a martial arts orientation class during his senior year in high school. The senior agent had kept in touch all through their university years and when he finally graduated, it was to a bouquet of flowers at his doorstep and a seemingly innocent envelope with a job offer.

The only thing Hongjoong regrets, though, is that Wooyoung and San had followed him into this job too.

He had hoped they wouldn’t, but even the display of his best persuasion skills had been ineffective against the duo with the stony resolve.

Hongjoong drags his feet to the kitchen to get some water for his parched throat, the adrenaline from the nightmare lingering and keeping him alert.

He’s staring at the magnets on the fridge when a gust of wind envelops him in cold. He whips his head around to see the balcony door open, Seonghwa sitting against the window’s glass.

Any other day he’d drink his fill, stare at Seonghwa if he’s feeling particularly wistful and walk back to his room, shoulders hanging low with disappointment, but tonight, there’s something different that’s keeping him away from doing just that, from backing down.

It’s not a fight, but the residue of the nightmare gains momentum the more he thinks about it and if he goes back, he knows he won’t fall asleep.

If worst comes to worst, Seonghwa will ask him to stop talking or go away, none of which Hongjoong isn’t used to.

He decides to take a chance.

Seonghwa doesn’t acknowledge him as he sits down, their shoulders brushing against each other. Hongjoong shivers, suddenly aware of how he’s only wearing an oversized t-shirt and boxers. 

The smell of smoke is heavy in the air. Hongjoong scrunches his nose at the bitter tang, gaze settling on the cigarette butts that litter the marble floor. He knows Seonghwa will clean up when he’s done so he doesn’t bring it up, but it’s so out of character, he can’t help but worry.

It’s all Hongjoong’s been doing these days. It isn’t good for his heart.

“Were you smoking?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa replies almost instantly, pushing his hand down his pocket and handing him a half-full pack of cigarettes. 

“I’ve never smoked,” Hongjoong comments.

The statement lies heavy and unattended in the cold midnight air.

“That wasn’t there in the notepad,” Seonghwa points out.

Hongjoong’s thrown off guard because he hadn’t expected the other man to look through the notepad so quickly or even remember what was and wasn’t there. He doesn’t say anything in response, feeling drained of words.

“Nightmare?” Hongjoong enquires, after a few minutes when he finds his voice.

Seonghwa’s lips quirk up with no real happiness attached to it.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

They stare at the city together, neither saying a word for what seems like an hour or so, Seoul spread out before them like an ocean of darkness and light.

Seoul is kind of like home. It’s not home in the sense that Hongjoong hailed from there, but there are people here that he and the others would give up their lives for in a heartbeat. It helps that the city is not as tainted on the outside even with its peaking numbers of monochrome and lifeless buildings.

Maybe it’s the night getting to him, but he feels unsettled yet calm next to Seonghwa. He turns his face and looks at Seonghwa, his profile lit up by a plethora of shades. 

He looks colourful, eternal in the moment that will never come back. As if the universe took time to make sure that all the lights, no matter what terrible activity they are apprentices to, fall on his face at the right angle and light him up, just as he is meant to be. 

The thought appeases the apprehension.

Hongjoong is certain he can’t feel his toes when he feels Seonghwa stare at him. He turns around to ask him if he has something on his face and Seonghwa’s eyes flicker down momentarily to his lips.

He doesn’t expect what he says next.

“Shotgun?” Seonghwa asks, unsure.

Hongjoong blinks once, twice and then nods. His insides flip at the insinuation of going further than just smoke exchanged between mouths.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Seonghwa requests.

Hongjoong isn’t sure if it’s about the smoke anymore.

Seonghwa lights a cigarette with careful hands pressing on the lighter. Hongjoong traces the line of Seonghwa’s jaw as he takes a lungful of smoke, the other man twisting around and into Hongjoong’s personal space. He cups Hongjoong’s face with his left hand and lets their gazes meet once more.

The night makes him brave so Hongjoong nods again.

Seonghwa leans in and presses his soft lips against Hongjoong’s parted ones, blowing the smoke into his mouth. Hongjoong resists the urge to cough. The smoke burns, a bonfire in his chest and windpipe.

Hongjoong shivers, not because of the cold, when Seonghwa pulls away.

He takes another whiff and turns, the same question on his face.

Hongjoong leans forward this time, both hands on either side of his face, Seonghwa lets him do it and when their lips meet, the warmth is blown into his mouth like Seonghwa is breathing life into him in the most intimate way possible.

Seonghwa looks at him carefully, gaze flicking down to his lips, his nose and back up to his eyes. He stays in Hongjoong’s personal space and takes another puff of smoke, throwing the cigarette away, both his hands finding a home on either side of Hongjoong’s jawline as he exhales into his mouth, the smoke comfortingly warm.

Hongjoong closes his eyes when Seonghwa doesn’t pull away, capturing his lips in a slow kiss. He feels his heartbeat in his throat as Seonghwa pulls him closer, the kiss turning a little desperate. 

Seonghwa kisses like he wants to claim and keep for himself, his nose pressing against Hongjoong’s cheeks, his teeth pulling on his lower lip. He tastes like cigarette smoke and loss, it’s addicting, his tongue roaming the walls of Hongjoong’s mouth like he isn’t sure he’ll get to do this again.

Then, Seonghwa pulls away so suddenly that it takes Hongjoong a moment to gain his bearings from the frenzied kiss which has effectively rendered him breathless, chest heaving and lips a little raw.

The silence is suffocating. Hongjoong doesn’t regret it, but Seonghwa’s silence is driving him mad even if he’d been the one to initiate the kiss.

Hongjoong turns around with an apology ready at the tip of his tongue only to have Seonghwa kiss him again, his one hand cradling his face and the other touching the skin of Hongjoong’s thighs below the fabric of his boxers.

When the kiss grows heated again, Hongjoong decides to take a risk and climb on Seonghwa’s lap, the other man’s grip on his waist almost bruising but conveying a deep-seated satisfaction. His hands loop around Seonghwa’s neck, one running through the smooth black strands of his thick hair.

The last thing Hongjoong imagined as he trekked from the kitchen to the balcony tonight is this, but Seonghwa is giving him attention of arguably the best kind and he doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

When Seonghwa pulls away with finality, Hongjoong moves to climb off of his lap, but the taller man rubs circles into the expanse of the skin over his hip bones and cranes his neck to press kisses to Hongjoong’s neck, rendering him immobile.

Seonghwa’s gaze smoulders through him, a fierce thing, but something so irrevocably sad about it even beneath the desire that so palpably shows on his face. Hongjoong tries to smile comfortingly, trying to tell him that it doesn’t matter what he meant by the kiss or that he’s fine with this even if it changes nothing, but Seonghwa ducks his face and hugs him tight. 

It’s a rather intimate position with him pretty much sitting on Seonghwa and his face pressed against his chest, arms around his back. Hongjoong feels something wet against the skin of his chest and his hands instinctively curl around Seonghwa, stroking his back and then his head.

Hongjoong pulls away when Seonghwa shifts. Seonghwa doesn’t spare him a glance, but takes a hold of his wrist, pulling him to his room.

“Do you mind?”

He asks, finally as they enter Seonghwa’s room.

Hongjoong shakes his head, unaware of what he’s answering to.

Seonghwa lies on the bed and looks expectantly at Hongjoong. He flicks the lights off when Hongjoong finally gets the message and clambers onto the mattress.

Outside, dawn chases dusk with its platter of yellows and auburns, but Hongjoong finds himself unable to think of anything else with Seonghwa pressed against his back, tears wetting his nape and arms locked against his chest in a protective hold.

“Seonghwa, why are you crying?”

Hongjoong finally finds the voice to ask.

All he gets is a shake of the head, but he loops their fingers over his midsection and crosses his fingers that he doesn’t wake up to an empty bed and being ignored for days on end.

_ If nothing from this night stays _ , he prays, _ just please don’t stop looking at me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, they kissed and what about it? 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed. Give me some feedback in the form of comments and kudos! Thank you for reading, guys!
> 
> Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!


	5. Mission Three: Die for you, Dye for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (cracks knuckles) Let's get it!

It isn’t like this is Hongjoong’s first nightmare, but it is different in that it also happens to be one of the few times he remembers exactly what has conspired in the confines of his dreamscape.

And he might be biased, he doesn’t know for certain, but no matter how many times you had a nightmare, it wasn’t something you could get used to. It could be the same thing, over and over and over again, but no matter how many times you watched the most petrifying things in the world courtesy of your brain’s impeccable attention to detail, you could never get desensitized to it.

At least, Hongjoong couldn’t. Not yet.

He doubts if such a time would ever come.

Hongjoong debates washing his face to rid himself of the tears before checking on Seonghwa but decides against it. His hands tremble as he tries to grab his phone to check the time, a sign that despite it being a nightmare and his persistent hold on denial, a part of him isn’t convinced.

That despite all the images his brain has decided to conjure for him, custom-woven with a side of all the things that could possibly terrify him in vivid and horrifying detail, it was just a nightmare, nothing more.

It’s his skeptical side that wins over first though.

Hongjoong steps into the hallway, turning to the other side only to see Seonghwa sitting leaning on the wall adjacent to his room, head down, hair covering his visage from him.

He tries to call out to him, but his voice doesn’t cooperate at first. He vaguely wonders if normal people would find such a sight worrying.

“Seonghwa,” he whispers after clearing his throat, kneeling down next to his partner, but he doesn’t let his hands touch the other, maintaining a distance.

The memory of a knife against the delicate stretch of skin over his neck, a thin line of blood dripping down and a look of apology after immense panic have been glued to the back of his eyelids to ever stop himself from rethinking before he touches a sleeping Seonghwa.

It’s more for the other’s mental well-being than his own though.

Seonghwa is silent when he raises his head, seeming way too alert for him to have been lost to oblivion just mere seconds ago. Perhaps he hadn’t been sleeping or perhaps he was, before whatever demons he runs from had caught up to him and coloured his eyes this particular shade of red.

“Nightmare?” Hongjoong asks and it’s like deja vu to four days ago when he had settled down next to Seonghwa and asked the same question, the field levelled and the night weary but bathed in the city lights.

It’s like their dream cycles align, like the universe took time to weave out their own personal versions of hell and cast it in their dreams, so often that their proximity merely served as a catalyst for their dreams to get acquainted with each other and happen at the same time.

The things he sees though… He doesn’t think anything he sees will ever qualify as a dream. There was nothing dream-like about the spray of blood or the carbon handles of knives, about the ones he loves taking their dying breaths in his lap due to no fault of their own, nothing dream-like about how the images make him curl into a ball or think about much extreme ends, ones he can never afford to choose for himself.

Seonghwa nods only after a moment spent raking his gaze over the depressions and elevations of Hongjoong’s face. He extends his hand after what seems like a calculated minute of hesitation, Hongjoong’s reflexes kicking in in the dim light of the moon as he sits back on his haunches, face swinging to the side to evade a blow, eyes shutting on their own accord.

When he doesn’t feel the hand connect with the skin of his cheek, Hongjoong opens one eye and then the other, Seonghwa staring at him with wide eyes that spell realization, a sigh escaping the other’s mouth before he lets his hand fall to his lap.

The revelation that Seonghwa had wanted to touch him hits Hongjoong only after a tense moment, the fear that had found home in his chest diffusing at seeing Seonghwa intact, more or less.

“Go ahead,” he finds himself whispering. He is rewarded with an answering look of confusion.

“Whatever you wanted to do,” Hongjoong clarifies as he motions towards his hand with his chin, “go ahead.”

Seonghwa looks like he wants to get up and run far away from Hongjoong and his interruptive tendencies, Hongjoong can see it so palpably on his face, but then, there’s a moment where it shifts, when he decides to consider his words and sighs.

Then, there’s a hand on his face wiping at what’s left of his tears.

Hongjoong’s heart pounds erratically, his breaths a little quicker from the minimal contact. 

He wonders if Seonghwa will lean in and kiss his breath away like he did that night. Seonghwa looks like he’s considering something along those lines before he decides against it, an anomaly enough for Hongjoong to be taken aback as it is already, watching the other carefully as he leans back against the wall again.

Hongjoong hadn’t talked about that night to Seonghwa just like he had decided before he straddled the other man, but unlike what he thought would happen, his partner hadn’t left him in the morning. All they did was sleep and when Hongjoong had woken up to comfortable warmth and Seonghwa’s body pressed against his, he had felt like the final puzzle piece he’d been looking for was finally right there. He had turned in the other’s hold, only to stare into Seonghwa’s open eyes, like he’d been awake for longer than necessary and still hadn’t decided to let Hongjoong go. A murmur of gratitude followed before the other man tapped on his stomach once and carefully extricated himself, walking out the door as if this wasn’t an incongruity in their routine, as if this was something they’d been doing for a long time.

A part of Hongjoong had prepared for yelling or some level of tension or animosity because even if Seonghwa had initiated it, he had misconstrued that Seonghwa would be angry at him for going along with it, as fucked up as that logic sounded. 

But Seonghwa had been fine with it or was okay with ignoring that it ever happened. Hongjoong understands though, because maybe growing fond of him wasn't even something Seonghwa has given serious thought or maybe it's just that Seonghwa's mind hasn't even viewed Hongjoong as someone with the potential to be a friend.

Hongjoong knew that the conversation pertaining to the night, despite it never happening, was over before it even started and if he felt lost at the ball in the pit of his stomach, no one ever had to know.

Right now though, Seonghwa is staring openly, seemingly torn between the thoughts in his head as if his thoughts were taking sides, choosing loyalties he never knew existed, mirror images of himself staring back at him and making points which were beyond defending. Hongjoong shifts so that he can lean against the wall next to Seonghwa, shoulders brushing against the other in a way reminiscent of that night, nostalgia making his heart clench before the kick for a reality check is delivered by the tactical side in him.

“Why do you still do this?”

Hongjoong stares at the light falling on the floor from the window on the side of the hallway and breathes in deeply. It takes him a moment to figure out what exactly Seonghwa is asking, but when he does, it’s easy to draw the conclusion that despite the question being straight-forward and direct and appearing out of nowhere, it’s no slip of the tongue. Seonghwa is trying to figure something out and the question is merely a cry for help from him, to solve the chaos inside, to have a moment of clarity before everything turns on its fulcrum and he loses it inside his head.

“A lot of reasons,” he says, truthfully.

Seonghwa stays quiet as if asking to elaborate. Hongjoong doesn’t think it’s easy for anyone who has ever known him to make him talk with so few words, but he’s always been good at taking cues so it’s no wonder that his brain catches on to the fact that Seonghwa is different and shall be treated so.

“It started because Eden hyung saw potential in me. I took a while to agree, but then some things were brought into perspective and I decided that it was better to have someone like me who doesn’t have family to care about than someone who had commitments like that in a field like this considering the risks. Then, it was about making what little difference I could.”

Seonghwa leans into his space a little, meeting his gaze, curiosity not obvious for someone who doesn’t know him, perhaps, but not for Hongjoong. He briefly realizes that despite the bits and pieces he’s been leaving like breadcrumbs for an oblivious Seonghwa to follow and figure him out with the added intention of Seonghwa divulging something about himself, despite all of that, this is the first time Hongjoong is talking about this explicitly, eight months too late, perhaps.

“What is it now?”

Hongjoong exhales shakily, both at the question and the way Seonghwa is mere breaths away, something that is beyond ignorable, not when everything screams and smells like  _ Seonghwa, Seonghwa, Seonghwa _ .

“Wooyoung, San, Mingi, Eden hyung, Jongho, Yeosang, Yunho, Maddox, Yeonjun,” he pauses, glad that his voice doesn’t give up on him, “you.”

It’s not something Seonghwa expects, Hongjoong can tell by the way he freezes next to him.

“If I quit now, I will never be able to keep in touch with any of you again. I know I can work around it, but that would mean putting you in jeopardy. I’m tired…” he pauses to take in the flashes of the past years, “of everything I’ve seen, of everything I had to do, the expectations, the risks, but I will sleep better,” Hongjoong chuckles internally at the irony considering how late it is into the night, “knowing I’m risking the very same things you are, knowing that every dangerous mission I choose will be one less risk you’ll have to face. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe, let alone live a life knowing that Wooyoung or San or you might be diving in front of a bullet as I sit at home, useless.”

Seonghwa is a quiet presence beside him, but even in the dull lighting, the air around them cold, Hongjoong can see the storm in his eyes. Hongjoong wonders if he should lie, to himself and to Seonghwa and not mention how important he is to him along with the other people he loves and cares for, but then decides otherwise because if Seonghwa stays away after this, at least he’ll know for certain.

“It used to be about protecting people who didn’t know what we did, about doing the things I could from the shadows, a part of it still is, but it’s so much more now, Seonghwa. I’d rather die than quit because you mean a lot to me,” Seonghwa flicks his gaze to him at the slip of the tongue which isn’t necessarily that, “all of you mean a lot to me and I’ll risk my life for as long as it takes because I’d rather go down with you than stay cooped in an apartment in a desperate bid for normalcy.”

The quiet doesn’t leave, but for the first time in a long time, it isn’t stifling, it feels liberating to say his part, to fill one side of the equation and leave the other blank for Seonghwa to fill in his own time. He could ask him the same question, but Hongjoong doesn’t take that opening, he’s content with this progress, the kind that had stayed a stranger for the past months when Seonghwa wouldn’t have allowed such a conversation, wouldn’t have let him see him be so vulnerable, wouldn’t have cared to wipe Hongjoong’s tears away.

Seonghwa’s hand taps his wrist making Hongjoong flinch out of his reverie before he gets the signal, a request, the other’s longer fingers entwining with his, warm and tight when he moves his fingers in consent.

Hongjoong smiles at the wall, a small stretch of his dry lips, not caring if his partner sees, feeling like his chest will burst from happiness, not the exciting, overwhelming kind but the kind that simmers inside like a bonfire and hot chocolate on a winter night, comfortable and warm and unhurried, the moment sinking in and seemingly stretching time like a ball of yarn that will never finish unwinding.

***

“Yang’s waiting for you,” Eden says as soon as they step inside his office.

Hongjoong squints at the empty chair. He steals a glance at Seonghwa to see him doing the same, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion at the absence of the senior agent from his chair which he seemed to be permanently sat upon.

Eden emerges from the ground behind the table, his glasses askew, shirt buttoned all wrong and an ancient pirate-themed coffee mug in his hands.

It’s easy to arrive at a conclusion, but Seonghwa beats him to it.

“Have you been sleeping here?” It’s delivered in the most condescending tone possible and Hongjoong knows it isn’t intentional, but he can’t help himself, snorting at the question.

Eden looks like he senses a challenge, hackles rising like a cat that was interrupted from its nap.

“If I said I was?” He asks, eyebrows raised painting a funny picture because he still hasn’t fixed his glasses which are comically slanted.

“If you said you were, I hang up on you the next time you call to lecture me,” Seonghwa replies with a characteristically indifferent look.

Hongjoong laughs as Eden smiles at the empty threat. He leans over the table and fixes the other’s glasses gaining a small mumble of gratitude from the senior agent.

“When did he reach?” Seonghwa asks, slightly antsy, the nervous energy surrounding him potent and visible, which it hardly ever is.

“Yesterday night. He’s staying at Junhee and his team’s backup apartment. Chan drove him here an hour ago.”

Hongjoong internally chuckles at how Chan must have listened to Yang’s lectures with a straight face while cursing him out to all hell. He was good at that. 

He was also extremely loyal so if Yang did go overboard today, he knew whom to call.

“I know you’re plotting his death already,” Eden calls him out, a slight smile on his face, “but it seems like something’s going on so be on guard. He’s more of a terror today than he already is. He’s been driving Hwanwoong and Youngjo up the wall for not making his coffee right. One more thing and Keonhee might spike his drink.”

Hongjoong would have missed the slight wince Seonghwa does had he not been looking at him. He winces for himself too because any day, with Yang involved in it, was a shitty day, no questions asked, all bridges burned.

And unfortunately for Hongjoong, today was one of those days.

They have history and no matter how much he tries to convince himself of Yang's competence as an agent, he can't bring himself to consider the possibility that he isn't a complete dick. Hongjoong has him to thank for one of his many recurring nightmares which still manages to leave him breathless in the most terrible way possible.

He is in for the test of his life, quite literally, today.

Hongjoong gives Eden a mock salute.

“Seventh floor?” Seonghwa asks, ever the duty-bound agent.

Eden nods, sipping his coffee.

“Stay alive,” Eden says, scrunching his nose at what Hongjoong figures is the drink having gone cold.

Hongjoong flips him the bird, but he doesn't ignore how his heart pounds like a prey wandering into enemy territory.

***

In his peripheral vision, Hongjoong can see Seonghwa’s fingers clenching into a fist and relaxing alternately in their ascent to the seventh floor, the deep hum of the elevator resonating in the limited space.

Hongjoong is aware that he has been initiating conversations, even though he is never certain if Seonghwa would reply or not. The silence is awkward, like all the progress they made in the past couple of weeks has been written and recorded in pages that people tended to skip while reading books, almost like they never existed, that it never happened.

Sort of like how Wooyoung would tell him  _ out of sight, out of mind _ after particularly draining missions.

The small smile creeps up on him unknowingly because suddenly he’s hit with fond memories of Wooyoung and San and all the antics they used to get up to in high school and college, using the same excuse after every act committed in favour of the prank war they had with whichever group was on the receiving side of Wooyoung’s angry pout. 

Seonghwa clears his throat, breaking Hongjoong's reverie, raising a perfect eyebrow when Hongjoong turns to face him.

"Didn't think you'd be this happy about meeting Yang."

Hongjoong feels his smile fade, but a tiny part of his brain scrambles to make a mental note that Seonghwa just initiated a conversation. 

"I'm not," he corrects.

Seonghwa remains quiet, as if waiting for something.

"I was just… thinking," Hongjoong continues when the other man doesn't hold back on the stare directed to the side of his face.

Seonghwa keeps looking at him for another long moment like he’s expecting Hongjoong to explain further. The eye contact proves particularly roving and Hongjoong breaks it to look at his shoes, feeling his skin heat up at the unprovoked attention. He's about to escape to another realm at how intensely Seonghwa is staring at him, almost like the other agent wants to see whether Hongjoong would melt into the ground and disappear, if he looked for long enough. 

Hongjoong doesn't want to test this particular hypothesis. He's screaming internally when the elevator dings, fortunately, signalling that they've arrived on the seventh floor.

They step out in sync, walking towards the gym when Seonghwa pauses in his tracks.

"He'll try to break you."

Hongjoong knows.

"He won't," he says, confident.

Seonghwa must see it in his eyes because the other nods, walking ahead as if he never stopped at all.

Yang was going to have the worst parlour tricks in history, all ready and lined up for him. He would bet all his money that the man took at least two business days to sit down and figure out how to make Hongjoong cower into a corner. 

He's scared. They've been trained to not deny fear, to embrace it so he isn't ashamed to admit he is scared, that he can feel his heart pound in his chest, breathing getting a little difficult the closer they get to the gym. 

There's a reason why he's doing this though so he can't back out, not that he has considered it. If Yang picked Wooyoung for this mission after knowing what he'd gone through the last time he had a mission like this, then it was Hongjoong's duty to let the bastard know that he had backup. 

_ Loyal _ backup.

And Hongjoong would rather be damned than let himself fail at whatever this test is supposed to be, especially in front of Yang who was just waiting for an opportunity to humiliate him.

"Agent Kim, what a pleasure to see you again." 

The senior agent turns away from the glass window, hands clapping together as soon as Seonghwa swipes his access card on the card reader.

They haven't even taken a step inside the place and the man was already grating on his nerves with the fake cheeriness.

"Agent Yang, I'm afraid I can't relate," Hongjoong says, his best fake smile plastered on his face, the other man glaring, the pleasant facade dropping at his belligerence.

Hongjoong knows, believe him, he  _ knows _ he shouldn't antagonize the one person he  _ really _ shouldn't today, but he just can't control himself when it comes down to this pathetic excuse for a person. 

Seonghwa throws him a warning look from his side. Hongjoong catches Yang observing the exchange and feels his heart quicken its pace wondering if there's something the man has noticed, other than the obvious fact that they communicate better now, at least according to Hongjoong’s non-existent standards. 

"Seonghwa," Yang calls, his voice low and if he didn't know better, he'd have called the emotion embedded in the utterance, affection. 

He briefly contemplates if he did know better.

Seonghwa nods at the man, a barely-there movement of his head. 

"Agent Yang," Seonghwa says and it's void of any inflection, just a couple of syllables stacked together. 

But it  _ is _ acknowledgement and it seems to be the only thing the senior agent had been expecting from his partner because the man nods and turns his sleazy gaze back at Hongjoong.

Suddenly, Hongjoong is hit with memories, unpleasant and bitter and as he feels his face go back to a neutral expression, he figures today will be a bad day. It’s something he has known ever since he woke up, but Yang was giving him the look which came before his cursed mouth started to spit nonsense with no sense of propriety or decorum and it clicks like a gun prepared to fire.

“Still sleeping around the office, Agent Kim?” It’s said in a tone screaming peak condescension and Hongjoong wonders why the man even tacks on the title when he clearly doesn’t respect him in the slightest. He ignores how Seonghwa stiffens up next to him and takes a step forward.

“None of your fucking business, Agent Yang,” he spits with as much venom as he can muster.

Much to Hongjoong’s dismay, the man seems to be completely unbothered, but a second later, the twitch of his mouth reveals that he is two words away from emptying a cartridge into Hongjoong’s head.

_ Good. _

“Enough talk,” he declares loudly and Hongjoong barely keeps himself from making a face. Yang had been the one who began chatting and now he was looking at them like they had somehow forced him to talk to them.

"I hope your aim is good, Kim," Yang says, walking to the side, opening the door to their target practice room. Yang already knows he’s good at shooting so Hongjoong can only hope that the man was losing his memory if he thought that using that against him could make him feel beaten.

"It is, keep your eyes open," Hongjoong quips and honestly, a gun or a knife in Hongjoong's hand and Yang in one room was asking for trouble.

Yang juts his chin to the side, eyes on Seonghwa and Hongjoong finds it interesting that his partner seems to immediately catch up on the message.

Seonghwa walks to the silver weapons box in the side of the room and opens it, the metal lid lifting with a whine. He looks through the case and Hongjoong rolls his wrist as he watches.

Hongjoong can't see what Seonghwa chooses, his frame hiding the case from view.

When he turns around, walking over to Hongjoong, he sees the Astra loosely held in the other’s hand. He would have used his gun, but the protocol for tests was that you had to use unfamiliar firearms. The whole point was to check if they still possessed the ability to shoot with composure despite the weapon they had in hand, be it their own or one they'd procured during a fight.

There's something in the look Seonghwa gives him that Hongjoong knows he's supposed to understand, but he doesn't. 

"Five shots. Both of you," Yang orders, stern voice echoing in the massive room, breaking the moment.

Hongjoong had expected it. It wasn't protocol to evaluate just one agent when two were going for the same mission so it doesn't faze him to hear that Seonghwa has to go through the test too. Seonghwa doesn't seem like he cares too, traipsing back to the case to get himself an Astra as well.

Seonghwa goes first, five shots through the same board and when he's done, the centre of the target is the chrome gray metal of the wall. 

Yang nods towards Hongjoong. Shooting was the first thing he'd come to love in the job. He liked the calm one had to create in his own mind before a shot was fired, before everything delved into chaos and having a gun, for someone like Hongjoong who cherished control, was a huge deal.

He watches as five shots pierce satisfyingly through the target, Yang's gaze burning a hole on his face.

"Knives," Yang says, handing them both two ring daggers from his boots. 

Hongjoong's mind flashes back to the three months he'd spend training with knives with the man, and even if Hongjoong loses faith in himself, this is one thing he's certain of, that his aim will never waver because despite the intense dislike he reserves for the senior agent, the man was a damn good trainer. 

The knife isn't Hongjoong's weapon of choice, but when working in a field like this, even a toothbrush could become a weapon if it was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Yang leaves the room after, when they’re done with the knife throwing, his phone attached to his ear, a finger in the air in a gesture to wait.

Hongjoong slumps against the weapons case, feeling antsy. He isn't shallow enough to think that target practice was their test for the day. He knows Yang is easing them in with routine tests that even rookie agents could do with their eyes closed. 

The finale, that is what he's scared of.

A few minutes later, when Yang walks back in and throws a knife at him, Hongjoong knows that the real test has begun.

The man leaps at him, hand clenched into a fist in a bid to land a hit on Hongjoong who tucks and rolls out of the way. Yang gets a grab on his foot and Hongjoong knows he's not hefty and that is his disadvantage because in the next moment, he finds himself in a chokehold, the other agent's forearm pressing against his trachea with deadly force.

Hongjoong feels his circulation cut off even as he struggles with his legs and hands to pull the man off or get him to relinquish his grip at least. He sees Seonghwa's fingers twitch in his peripheral vision, his face conveying nothing.

"If it was someone else, you would be dead by now, Kim," Yang whispers, voice breathy from exertion but still having a victorious undertone that grates against Hongjoong's pride.

Hongjoong chuckles against the force even as his voice comes out croaky. He pulls the man's pinky on his left hand and twists it enough to hurt, ignoring his brain's message to just break it, the grip loosening as he swings around and kicks the man in his chest, grabbing the gun from his pocket, all in one move.

Hongjoong aims the gun down, leaning down and crouching on one knee, the muzzle of the gun touching Yang's forehead. 

"I don't think so," he grits out, voice still wrecked, but he knows he's won. 

Yang backs away from the glare, and Hongjoong understands that this is the only sign he'll get from him in approval of his victory. Hongjoong tucks his gun back in his pocket, Yang still half lying on the floor.

Hongjoong doesn't help him up.

It's Seonghwa's turn next, but it's over before it begins because the moment a hand lands on Seonghwa's wrist, Seonghwa tugs Yang around, folding his hands in, landing two quick punches and shoves him away with both his palms. 

Seonghwa's moves aren't graceful or smooth, it's quick and brutal and deadly, like lightning that flashes when you least expect it. He isn't built big too when compared to the other agents at KQ. Seonghwa works out though, but he's all lean muscles, a normal frame and tall stature. 

Now that Hongjoong thinks about it, most, if not all agents who do fieldwork worked out considerably, some because they liked to and because the job demanded fitness, he belongs to that list, the others because sometimes working out could fool you into a false sense of security and out in the field, anything that could give any semblance of security was much appreciated because you had no one to trust except your mind and your body. 

Yang is stockier, perhaps an inch or so away from transforming into a muscle pig, but he's shorter than Seonghwa and at the end of the day, Hongjoong knows size doesn't matter because small could also mean lethal. He knew that more than most.

Yang attempts to land a roundhouse kick, but Seonghwa grabs him by the ankle as the other's foot aims at his chest and twists it, the senior agent landing with a hard thud on the floor, groaning.

Watching Seonghwa pretty much slam Yang against the ground really gets his blood going and with the way Yang stumbles and falls to the ground, Hongjoong knows Seonghwa has calculated the force he applied right down to the last moment.

People generally had a tendency to underestimate Seonghwa in combat and Yang, despite the fact that he was Seonghwa's trainer seems to have fallen into that particular fallacious lane too. 

Perhaps it's the years catching up on the senior agent or maybe it is intentional but victory, it's clear, is Seonghwa's. 

Hongjoong watches as Seonghwa stares down at Yang for a long moment, face blank, and offers him a hand, something he himself hadn't done. 

The senior agent grasps it tight and lets Seonghwa tug him up. 

Yang nods in approval and maybe if Seonghwa wasn't on the receiving end of it, Hongjoong would have felt slightly bitter, but as it is, he feels an odd kind of feeling creep in, a little bit like pride.

He doesn't allow himself to dwell on it for too long lest his mind begins to wander again into uncharted territory.

Seonghwa rolls his shoulders and walks towards him with a look of indifference. 

"Seonghwa," Yang calls before Seonghwa makes it to Hongjoong's side making the other pause in his tracks, "ask him to kneel."

_ Oh. _

Hongjoong really should have known. But even with all the mental preparation he’d done, this particular variable had completely elided his thought process. It's sloppy of him to lose sight of something so significant, but the way Seonghwa looks like he's about to twist on his heel and throw Yang against the wall tells him that his partner hadn't considered it as well.

Well, that makes the two of them. 

There's a moment when Seonghwa's shoulders lift as if he's going to lose his temper before he looks at Hongjoong with a question.

Hongjoong hopes he looks like he's alright with this. He doesn't have much experience in this power dynamic thing, but he trusts Seonghwa and they had talked about it just a couple of days ago and even if the lack of practice will show, he hopes they convince Yang because there was no way he'd let Wooyoung take this mission.

Yang is watching with hawk eyes as Seonghwa walks closer, stepping into Hongjoong's personal space, mouthing an apology with such an intense look in his eyes, Hongjoong is left to wonder if he looked at his lovers like this.

His heart aches at the thought, but he nods his head, letting Seonghwa know it’s okay.

"Hongjoong, on your knees," Seonghwa's voice is soaked in dominance, but it's not loud, just his voice in the normal decibel and Hongjoong feels it at the very pit of his stomach. However, Hongjoong, despite showing pliancy and complacency when it came to Seonghwa, at least most of the time, has always had problems with control. Bringing himself to kneel in front of Seonghwa, even if they're partners, even if he'll lay his life on the line for him, really throws him off, but he takes a deep breath and follows without protest, taking one last look at Seonghwa before he prostrates before him.

Hongjoong keeps his eyes on the ground, both in shame and as a sign of submission.

He knows he's only meant to feel one of those but he figures he'll get better at it with practice.

He wasn't a BDSM expert to get everything right on his first try after all. 

It technically isn't the first time he has dabbled in this game, but in all the times before, he'd had time to explicitly talk about it and prepare himself for it. But having Yang watch them in this shared moment of intimacy puts Hongjoong on edge and the only reasons why he doesn't scramble to his feet and run to his apartment is because his head keeps screaming Wooyoung's name and because before he bent his head, Seonghwa had looked like he was trying not to throw up at making Hongjoong submit in public.

A part of Hongjoong hates Yang even more now, for taking this away from them. 

They're just partners, he's aware and they're supposed to do this mission with precision and a sense of duty, but for Hongjoong, it means more. 

It always has.

And this, submitting all of himself before Seonghwa, he knew it wouldn't be a page from a fairytale, but he had wanted to ask Seonghwa if they could have a trial run at it in the confines of their apartment and Yang has just gone ahead and ripped this from them like the inevitability he is.

And Hongjoong, he feels hurt and betrayed, but then he remembers that he's in the wrong, he never should have gone ahead and made plans to make this a personal thing.

They were agents. They weren't supposed to have emotions. Sex wasn't a way to express affection. Love didn't happen. Relationships were a myth.

He's heard all of this a million times. Not enough for him to convince himself but enough to ensure these conditions were met to ensure optimal performance. 

Emotions were a liability and out in the field, liabilities got you killed or they got you betrayed. 

Liabilities put your people at risk. Liabilities meant death.

Hongjoong  _ knows _ . 

But trust, _ trust _ exists and he had wanted to entrust himself to Seonghwa at  _ their _ pace and  _ their _ time, at least the time they had till the mission date was decided. This wasn't supposed to happen like  _ this _ .

Hongjoong hopes Seonghwa knows he's sorry about this, for not knowing this beforehand. 

For not figuring this particular outcome would present itself before them in such a way.

Both of them had known that Yang would attempt to break Hongjoong.

Hongjoong had been prepared for it, but he's just sorry that Seonghwa was dragged into this equation, a collateral damage Hongjoong hadn’t considered.

"Look at you doing what you do best, Kim. Kneeling desperately for some action. Bet you'd beg for it if I wasn't here," Yang goads and Hongjoong resolutely keeps his mouth because this is a test and the slightest of moves would get him removed from this mission and that's the last thing he wants to see happen.

What he doesn't expect, however, is for a gust of wind to hit him in the face as Seonghwa turns around so quickly Hongjoong barely sees him in motion. The next thing he knows when he lifts his gaze is Yang's head bouncing off the steel wall, Seonghwa's hand crushing his windpipe, his expression one of pure and unadulterated rage.

"Not a word more. You're not a part of this scene. Unless I," Hongjoong shivers at how Seonghwa's voice screams power, "grant you express permission, you are not to interrupt in the scene. You don't get to speak to him like that. He submitted to me, not to you and you  _ will _ treat him with respect."

Seonghwa's arm presses tighter against Yang's throat and Hongjoong wants to stop him, but Yang holds the gaze before he nods and Seonghwa releases the grip, letting him go.

It's proper BDSM etiquette, to make sure that the sub's personal space and boundaries are respected by the dom, that no one exploits the submission and mistakes it for weakness. Seonghwa was demonstrating what was right and in a scene, it would be appreciated, praised in fact, and Hongjoong shouldn't read more into it, but it was Seonghwa defending his honour, not that he needed anyone to do that. It still makes another shiver traverse down his spine.

"Slap him," Yang says, recovering so quickly from the bodily threat Seonghwa had just delivered and it sounds like he wants to get back at Hongjoong for all the times he's cursed him in his head. Seonghwa's eyes flash and he fixes Yang with a look that says he's on the verge of losing it.

"I won't," Seonghwa says, finally, leaving no room for an argument. 

There's a brief part of Hongjoong that wonders if Seonghwa has just put the entire plan on the line, but there's another part which finds a sense of immense satisfaction in the way Seonghwa has denied to hurt Hongjoong like he knows he wouldn't be ready to take it. But the truth is that he would have dealt with it if it meant getting this mission assigned to them, they didn't have time to deal with emotions anyway.

Yang glares at Seonghwa like he has realized something all of a sudden and his gaze softens for a second before the mask slips back on. 

It's something he already knows, but the move makes Hongjoong realize for the umpteenth time that he doesn't really know these people he works with, not to the extent he has fooled himself into believing. Dichotomies ruined things and Hongjoong really should stop himself, but he can't bring himself to shake the fallacious, yet self-aware basis of his beliefs. 

"I'll get Yunho to create files for you, social security and the whole works for when they do a background check. Eden will let you know the rest." 

It takes a sum of moments for realization to dawn on him and it's Seonghwa's silhouette in front of him which makes him flinch out of his reverie.

"We got it," Seonghwa says, stating the obvious and he hovers before him as if contemplating whether or not to help Hongjoong up, but Hongjoong physically can't bring himself to get up and it's a long moment spent raking his mind for what's wrong when Seonghwa kneels in front of him, mirroring his position. 

“Hongjoong, color,” Seonghwa commands softly.

“Green,” Hongjoong whispers, feeling exhausted all of a sudden.

Seonghwa leans into his space, gaze roving over his face like Hongjoong has an expression on his face which he can’t decipher, but it seems that he accepts defeat quickly because he moves away.

“It’s over. Snap out of it,” Seonghwa says, legs already in motion, away from Hongjoong. “I’ll talk to Eden,” he turns to face him, “Get… get yourself sorted.”

Seonghwa doesn’t even pause to give him a comforting look. He is under no obligation, but Hongjoong had hoped, with all he had. The blatant avoidance though, made where they stood among other things very clear.

Hongjoong wants to slump forward and curl into a ball because he was so tired of this never-ending hot and cold game with Seonghwa, but he doesn’t let himself have the privilege to break down. Not because he doesn’t want to but because Yang was watching him like he was an animal in a zoo and Hongjoong hates how it makes his skin crawl. The last thing he wants is to let Yang see him be vulnerable.

And Seonghwa had just gone ahead and left him with  _ Yang _ .

Sometimes, more often than not, Seonghwa would demonstrate how he had the power to hurt Hongjoong beyond repair, but the most difficult thing to stomach was how he didn't even realize he was doing it. 

Hongjoong feels tears prick his eyes, but he doesn’t surrender, leaning forward, planting both his palms flat and firm on the floor in front of him, inhaling and exhaling methodically, like they taught him in training.

Hongjoong resolutely avoids eye contact with the other man in the room as he dusts his pants off just to have something to occupy his hands with after he gets up. 

"He has changed."

Hongjoong lets the observation hang in the air. He's still reeling from the submission and humiliation, but more than all that, he's hurting from the abandonment and Yang was the last person he needed to talk to right now.

Hongjoong schools his expression to his neutral one, one that's iron-clad and reinforced, one he falls back on when things get overwhelming. 

"Maybe you should ask him," Hongjoong suggests, feigning indifference even if Yang's observation was just that, a line uttered out of the blue, not requiring confirmation or validation, a mere statement. 

He hopes Yang doesn't see right through him.

"He cares for you," Yang continues as if Hongjoong never interrupted him and Hongjoong feels like he can never win. 

Seonghwa caring for him. Hongjoong laughs internally, humorless, at the prospect. His partner had just left him with one of the most hated people in his life after what he'd asked of him, after the gruelling mental toll the other must have figured it'd take on him. All Hongjoong wants is to go home and hide under his bed, but that isn't practical because he's not ten years old anymore.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hongjoong says as he scratches his wrist, anxiety starting to kick in full swing. He hates losing control unless he asks for it outright and the mission is inevitable, but in the here and the now, Hongjoong feels like the control he's just given up is as good as a planet lost in the universe, never to be found again.

He  _ wants _ to get out of here.

"Kim, is there something going on between the two of you?" Yang changes lanes, switching his interrogation tactics.

Hongjoong wants Yang to stop talking but the man, all credit where it is due, doesn't have his tone of judgement right now. It's like he genuinely wants to know, not so he can use it to humiliate Hongjoong in public but like a friend who'd want to know if you're involved with someone.

Hongjoong is not vain enough to assume he's the reason.

"Nothing is going on," his head flashes to the kisses they'd shared mere days ago, of Seonghwa letting him take care of him, of how Seonghwa lets Hongjoong exist in his space, "I don't know what you're-," Hongjoong starts again, a pre-planned response at the tip of his tongue.

"There's no point in denying it," Yang interrupts, stepping forward and Hongjoong has to keep his eyes straight on Yang to stop himself from taking a step back.

"You-," 

Yang's eyes widen as he peers into Hongjoong's eyes like he's trying to stare into his soul and read all the secrets Hongjoong has ever had before a look of pity overtakes his usually stoic face.

"You like him."

Hongjoong feels his heart drop to the ocean. It's one thing to know what you're feeling, another to have someone who has known you in glimpses through the years alone to see something Hongjoong has hidden deep under the folds of his skin, a cryptid feeling Hongjoong has refused to acknowledge even to himself.

It's one of the most pathetic things in the world, Hongjoong thinks, to have someone confront you with something you know is true and you find that you possess only trained indifference and resounding silence to reply to them.

"Good," Yang states, like a comment made on something in your sight, like praise you give to a loyal dog, "Maybe you'll be able to help him escape his head."

Hongjoong freezes at the implication, but he refuses himself the right to contemplate more on it, forcing himself to watch Yang turn away and leave the room, a headache invading his temple from the events which have transpired in the past hour. 

When he knocks on Eden's door after he's put himself back together with clinical precision, the senior agent looks up.

"Hongjoong?" He asks, surprise coloring his voice.

"Where's Seonghwa?" Hongjoong asks.

"He left a few minutes ago. I thought you were going together," Eden phrases the last part as a question.

Hongjoong feels exhausted so he just shrugs and closes the door, not taking the chance to feel sorry for himself or let Eden stage an intervention. 

Mingi catches him at the entrance as he's trying to scram away as quickly as possible from getting blocked by his acquaintances. He is not up for pleasantries on a regular day and he balks, feeling resigned at how he can't get a break. The taller agent is way too cheery for Hongjoong to handle on a normal day so he isn't looking forward to the conversation, but it's like Mingi reads him as soon as he sees him. He peers down around Hongjoong, then at his hand and shakes his head, eyes turning sharp.

"Need a ride?" Mingi offers, tone even and it is then that it finally registers in him that Seonghwa has gone home without a word, like Hongjoong is a puppy he found on a sidewalk which he gives attention to based on his mood swings.

"Did he go?" Hongjoong lets the question simmer in the empty air even if a part of him already knows the answer. 

Mingi throws him a pitying look instead of a vocal affirmation like he's trying to save Hongjoong from heartbreak. The taller agent steps forward after a moment of contemplation and Hongjoong lets himself be pulled into a side hug, the warm touch making him flinch before he relaxes and shoves down memories of an ebony-haired man into the abyss.

***

Hongjoong blinks his eyes open, Mingi's faded red hair coming into view, his features obscure because of the way the light from the ceiling lands straight on Hongjoong's face and into his eyes. It takes a good few seconds for him to gain a sense of his surroundings, sleep still clinging to the corners of his consciousness. 

Mingi looks like he'd been sleeping too, face swollen, a slight flush high on his cheeks. He takes his hand from Hongjoong’s shoulder and runs it through his unstyled hair, stepping away from Hongjoong's personal space. 

Hongjoong sits up, looking at the clock on the wall which said that it was barely half-past three in the morning.

Hold on.

_ What the fuck? _

"What the fuck?" He exclaims, pulling the comforter closer to his waist.

Mingi laughs, "Good morning to you too."

Hongjoong is so confused.

"Mingi, what's happening?"

"Seonghwa hyung has been calling me since two.” Mingi pointedly gazes at Hongjoong’s phone in all its carbon black glory as it basks in flight mode atop the coffee table. “I haven't picked up yet. There are quite a few worrying texts too,” Mingi says, scratching at his nape.

_ Now? _ Seonghwa was worried  _ now? _

After he left Hongjoong in their office with a man who had the potential to break him mentally with a snap of his fingers? After he left Hongjoong while he was still kneeling on the floor vulnerable and lost? After he took their car and conveniently forgot Hongjoong?

And he was worried  _ now _ ?

Hongjoong had wanted to go home, but Mingi was concerned and he had decided that staying over for one night wouldn’t hurt when he was so drained from the day. Going back to the apartment would have meant that he’d be tempted to confront Seonghwa and Hongjoong had been trying to not be a burden on the other. 

And if he didn’t care for Hongjoong, who was Hongjoong to demand that of him?

It’s Mingi who rips him away from his head with a soft call of his name, his deep voice managing to sound even deeper with sleep.

“Yeah?” 

Mingi shakes his head in exasperation at Hongjoong and he’s half-delirious, but he knows when someone’s judging him. He raises an eyebrow at the younger and he’s about to smack the other for his lack of respect, fond as he is of the younger agent when the doorbell rings.

It’s half-past three and the couch he’s sitting on is not too familiar but the calculated pause between the ringing is.

“Please don’t tell me it is who I think it is,” Mingi says, voice going a little high.

Hongjoong shrugs, the resignation of his fate weighing in on his shoulders.

“I can tell him you’re not here.”

The offer is tempting, but if Seonghwa was desperate to find him, then maybe it was better to let this conversation happen sooner than later. 

“It’s okay, Mingi,” he placates, “I think I kind of figured that this was coming.”

Hongjoong has the right to create a ruckus about Seonghwa leaving him behind, but exhaustion has seeped so deep into his bones that all that’s left is trained indifference and a blatant disregard for himself so he gets up, shrugging the comforter away. Grabbing hold of his phone and gun, Hongjoong pulls Mingi into a hug, well aware that the younger man is leaving for a three-month mission the next week.

Mingi still hesitates before he lets Hongjoong open the door, Seonghwa’s tall figure shrouded in the entrance light coming into view. His dark hair is messy like he has been running his fingers through it. His face is as blank as ever, but the dark circles around his eyes are more visible like this. Hongjoong’s used to seeing Seonghwa look like he’s lost in some other plane, but now he just looks wrecked, like he’s torn between two worlds, one where he is allowed to be dead inside, the other where he has to force himself to be alive.

Seonghwa must understand that they’ll talk once they get home because he rakes his gaze over Hongjoong as if checking for injuries and it’s slower than usual. Hongjoong shouldn’t say it, but he can’t help it because he’s hurt and he’s saved Seonghwa from so many blows. This time was particularly hard on him and he wants Seonghwa to know that he’s hurt.

“I’m fine. Mingi isn’t Yang.”

Mingi tenses behind Hongjoong at the harsh words even though it’s in his favour. 

Hongjoong really should have saved it for later, but the way Seonghwa recoils ever so slightly, like an injured dragon retreating back to hiding, it makes Hongjoong want to embrace him tightly and apologize. He doesn’t know what has gotten into him because he swears he wasn’t so easily affected by things earlier. It’s like letting Seonghwa in his life has brought so many unprecedented changes that Hongjoong is left groping in the dark even in his own matters because Seonghwa, despite all his leaving bouts, is an all-pervading presence that has looped and tangled with every aspect of Hongjoong’s life.

Hongjoong wishes he could have figured this out sooner and made reinforcements, but a part of him is aware that he’d seen the red flags and ignored them, caught up in the moment and now…

Now, there’s no going back.

When they’re finally inside the car, Mingi shutting the door behind them, Seonghwa turns to him like there are words at the tip of his tongue. Hongjoong waits, patiently.

He was always so patient with Seonghwa.

“Did Yang… did he do something after I left?”

Maybe it’s the way Hongjoong phrased it earlier, but Seonghwa looks like he’s expecting the worst, like he sees another reason coming from a mile away to blame himself.

That’s the thing.

Seonghwa always looks like he isn’t ready to forgive himself, desperately toppling over every possibility to place more blame on him and kill himself a million more times as if some memory from his past haunts him and he’s seeking punishment he thinks he deserves.

How can Hongjoong ever possibly look at this man and want to hurt him for all his pain when he was doing all of that on his own?

“No,” Hongjoong says, leaning against the seat and closing his eyes.

It’s a few minutes into the drive when Hongjoong considers what had just happened.

“How’d you know I was at Mingi’s?”

Hongjoong keeps his eyes closed, but he hears Seonghwa sigh, the engine humming mere background noise.

“I called Eden,” Hongjoong should have known that the elder agent would check security cameras and he is about to commit to the silence when Seonghwa continues, “I thought you’d come home.”

Hongjoong doesn’t think he’s ever heard Seonghwa call their apartment home so he takes a moment to keep in the strand of happiness that curls around his heart to give it some warmth.

“I didn’t want to,” he replies, honestly, once he’s dealt with the surge of emotion.

Seonghwa doesn’t give any sign that he’s heard Hongjoong, but the car accelerates, a little reckless and Hongjoong sighs internally.

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, eyes still on the road. Hongjoong isn’t used to this level of transparency from Seonghwa so he barely manages a nod.

They should talk about it, but they don’t.

When they finally reach home, they hover in the hall like they’re two planets of the same galaxy who have left each other’s orbits and after months of barely-there interactions, this sudden frequency of their correspondence feels out of place.

It’s around four-thirty when Hongjoong sinks against his mattress and it’s yet another conversation that they should have had, tossed into the unknown to fester for eternity and be forgotten conveniently.

***

“You go in first, I’ll enter through the vent. That way, the guards won’t barge in because they’ll think he’s preoccupied. We’ll take them out when we’re done with him.”

Seonghwa is looking at Hongjoong for approval, hair falling into his eyes, his long arms placed on either side of the blueprint of the hotel.

It’s a sound plan and Hongjoong visualizes the steps Seonghwa has taken the liberty to design. 

The Gangnam mission had a couple more variables Eden needed to figure out. Even if Yang had approved their team, having the police involved meant that there was more security going into it, which was great, but it also made mission preparation longer because double the force meant double the time for sanctions.

Eden probably understood that neither Hongjoong nor Seonghwa were very fond of long breaks between missions and so when they got the new mission notification, they’d gathered quickly in the hall.

It was another assassination. A bureaucrat who was up and coming in the Seoul circle with his base in Ilsan. The man despite his spotless public record, Hongjoong gathered, had a rather significant amount of nasty side businesses which their tech team had uncovered. KQ usually didn’t take unsolicited missions so even if the mission request was by a classified person, the fact that the man had red all over his digitally erased past made it easier to go into this without guilt.

“Deleting camera footage won’t be enough to hide my face. I know we have government protection, but it’s better to have a cover, don’t you think?”

Hongjoong gets up, leaning on the table to take a look at the blueprint again and to figure out the camera placements.

“A disguise, maybe?” Seonghwa suggests, eyes still on the blueprint.

Hongjoong leans away, scratching his jawline in thought. A wig or moustache or just about any props were definitely out of the question.

“That will work, but I can’t use a wig or something. He’ll know since we’ll be physically involved.” Seonghwa makes a face at that.

Hongjoong has noticed how Seonghwa doesn’t seem to be too fond of missions where Hongjoong has to act the part and lure in their targets. They haven’t had many so far though, only two Hongjoong can remember which didn’t even end up being as handsy as he thought it would. It was mostly because Eden knew that direct assault was both their strong suits and using them for something else wouldn’t have been practical.

Undercover missions at KQ were assigned to partners who had worked long enough together to read each other easily. That was the reason why Wooyoung and San had so many successes under their belts in going undercover.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa had done brief cover missions though, lasting a day or two, but none of it had demanded lying for more than a few hours straight. And when they were done, the body count was usually to KQ’s satisfaction.

But when physical contact of the intimate sort was involved, it hadn’t skipped Hongjoong’s notice that Seonghwa tended to be even more anxious. Hongjoong was more experienced in it because most of his solo missions required him to play the part, both with men and women. From the bare minimum he’d gathered from Eden before meeting Seonghwa, he knows that Seonghwa had done his fair share too so really this particular thing was something he found hard to stomach.

At one point, Hongjoong had wondered whether Seonghwa was homophobic, but after the kiss at their balcony and the sleepover session, he doesn’t think that’s the case. Dwelling on it though, it did no good.

Seonghwa screws his eyes shut and opens them when Hongjoong looks over.

“Maybe you could color your hair?” That is a possibility worth considering, but Seonghwa follows it up with, “Something bright?” For a moment he thinks Seonghwa is kidding, but his expression remains the same and Hongjoong falters.

It is a good option, despite his qualms. Bright hair colors would draw the attention of others and if he played around with his hairstyle and did some makeup, the chances that he’d be recognized were nearly zero.

Hongjoong gives Seonghwa a slight nod and they go back to figure out the rest of the logistics. Seonghwa makes some more alterations to their plan and when they deem it done, Hongjoong swipes on his phone to order takeout, hunger setting in once the brain work is over. They’re still in that awkward impasse phase after Yang’s test, but speaking from experience, it will tide over in no time. In a few days, Hongjoong will blissfully forget what happened and it would just become a tiny part of the hurt he feels every day.

The hair color thing looms over his head though, like that obligatory annoying thing you stressed over in every plan ever made. He’s done missions before similar to this, but the closest he’s gotten to disguises involving coloring his hair was switching between brown and its multiple variants. Bright color hair dyes aren’t his area of expertise.

Seonghwa had suggested it so he figures that there’s no harm in asking him for pointers.

“Any suggestions for the color?” Hongjoong asks, tugging at a handful of his own hair, grimacing slightly at how greasy it feels.

Seonghwa makes eye contact, eyebrows raised and conveying disbelief like he isn’t sure why out of everything he could have asked Hongjoong is asking him this particular question.

“You suggested it so I figured I’d ask you first,” Hongjoong defends, reading into the unsaid words, feeling a little like he’s being judged.

“Red,” Seonghwa says, like he’s given it some thought before and rolls the blueprint up, walking to his room without another word, declaring the conversation to be over.

Hongjoong wants to bang his head against the wall. 

_ What was he even thinking?  _

He’s never given much attention to his hair except for keeping it clean. He remembers San’s hair phase in college though, which had grabbed hold of Wooyoung too, but they’d graduated before the duo could make a valid case in point to Hongjoong to convince him.

He has an idea about the fact that red doesn’t just mean red when it comes to hair.

Did Seonghwa mean burgundy? Ginger? Deep red? Maroon?

Hongjoong is truly lost.

After a restless lunch and two hours of browsing on the interwebs, Hongjoong calls Wooyoung and San up, finally admitting defeat.

“Seonghwa thinks I should dye my hair red,” Hongjoong blurts when San picks up with a concerned hello.

There’s a squeak and the grainy images of both San and Wooyoung come on his screen.

“Say what?” Wooyoung asks, voice high.

“I have a mission coming up and I want to dye my hair red,” he corrects, well aware that his friends had heard him the first time.

Sometimes, Hongjoong doesn’t even know why he bothers trying.

The leer that stretches on Wooyoung’s face and the devious glint in San’s eyes aren’t reassuring at all.

A little later when he’s walking home flanked by his best friends, Hongjoong wonders why he ever thought asking for help to them was a good idea. Wooyoung had gone straight to the brightest red available in the convenience store and the forty minutes they spent there was just the chaotic pair trying to coax him into agreeing to take the one risk he designated every year.

Hongjoong hadn’t told them about the kiss. That was a conversation for later. Preferably never.

The bleach which was an essential had been bought only as an afterthought and if that wasn’t a testament to how they really were meant to find each other, Hongjoong doesn’t know what was.

Now he only had to worry about just how the hell he was going to dye his hair red with his clumsy ass hands which could handle a firearm without a second thought but found holding a spoon preposterous and dropped it at least once every five times.

He was so going to mess this up.

***

Seonghwa doesn’t let him mess up.

Hongjoong is leaning forward, the hard porcelain of the sink digging painfully into his hip bones as he tries to peer in the mirror and apply the bleach without it dripping and spreading all over his face when Seonghwa knocks on the bathroom door. The door is wide open, but it’s something they do, more out of habit than anything else because of their issues with being startled out of the blue and as a way to respect each other’s spaces.

Hongjoong puts the brush down. Seonghwa scans him over once like he’s recently taken an affinity to and Hongjoong must look like a complete doofus because there’s a peculiar look in Seonghwa’s eyes. Hongjoong sniffs slightly, an incoming cold in the near future goading him. The pungent smell of the bleach doesn’t help too, making him tear up.

Seonghwa looks at the products surrounding Hongjoong, eyes widening in surprise and steps past the threshold.

“You’re really dyeing it red.”

Hongjoong nods, wanting to pull out his hair and just go bald for the mission. He isn’t the most patient person in the world and hair dyeing needed patience, something Hongjoong didn’t have in spades. Seonghwa though, doesn’t sound like he’s judging, but there’s a hint of amusement on his face which does weird things to Hongjoong’s heart.

“I can help,” Seonghwa offers, but Hongjoong merely gapes at the other man’s offer causing his partner to backtrack and repeal it, “if you want… Actually, forget…” 

“Please do,” Hongjoong interrupts, making sure his voice sounds just on the verge of desperation.

Seonghwa’s hands are ungodly as he tilts Hongjoong’s head every which way to get all the sides. When they’re nearly done, Hongjoong is convinced that he’ll never want to marry the way someone smells as much as he does Seonghwa’s, the proximity making his every inhale a torturous blend of musk, mint and wood.

A good fifteen minutes later, Seonghwa is kind enough to let him know that thinking that one session of bleaching is enough to dye his natural black hair another color is stupid of him. By the time, Seonghwa helps him wash the bleach away, his hair is a borderline yellowish blonde.

“I look like Naruto,” Hongjoong says, picking at his hair like he’d do a dish he doesn’t like.

Seonghwa shakes his head, disagreeing.

Fast forward a week later and Hongjoong’s head has been through another bleaching session. He and Seonghwa haven’t talked much except for the occasionally satisfied hums and approving nods escaping every now and then. It’s like Hongjoong’s brain suddenly wakes up and decides to take it upon itself to embarrass him.

“I think we should have sex,” Hongjoong sputters as Seonghwa is applying red hair dye on his hair.

It’s something Hongjoong’s been thinking about since the mission details were given out, but the way Hongjoong’s brain had zero regard for scoping out the situation before it began this particular conversation really makes him want to drill a hole in the wall and plaster himself in.

“The mission?” Seonghwa asks and Hongjoong should give him credit for how unbothered he’s trying to look under his scrutinizing gaze.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong mumbles. The damage was done so he might as well run along with it.

Seonghwa turns away, washing his hands after Hongjoong’s hair is under a shower cap, the red dye given time to work its magic.

“Why do you think this is a good idea?”

Hongjoong doesn’t, but he doesn’t want to do something like cry in front of a group of burly men when Seonghwa takes him for the first time. Seonghwa has definitely considered this, Hongjoong can tell by how unfazed he is by the idea.

Most of them didn’t step into this world thinking that sex would be something they’d get to save for someone they loved alone. You had to be ready to give everything the job demanded so sex is merely a weapon, useful in missions which called for it.

Hongjoong can’t remember the last time he slept with someone because he wanted to. It’s probably a human rights violation or something like that, but not every law was adhered to on this side of the spectrum.

Seonghwa shares the mindset too from what Hongjoong has seen.

“Intimacy. If our first time having sex is in front of people who’ve seen others be intimate for years, they’ll call us out on our bluff.”

Seonghwa nods and Hongjoong feels anxiety make his heart speed up.

“Eden told me that the police officers were caught because they didn’t look like they were into it. It’s fine with me if you are. It’ll be less risky like this too,” Seonghwa says, sounding so detached Hongjoong feels weird, but he’ll take this as it is.

They had to web these people and if dipping his toes into something he’s resolutely kept himself away from will help, Hongjoong was willing to do it.

“You know what they say about practice,” Hongjoong winks as he says it, Seonghwa merely raising an eyebrow at the attempt to lighten the mood.

Nothing more is said with regard to it, but Seonghwa doesn’t look particularly scandalized, in fact, he looks like he’s in agreement and it makes Hongjoong’s nerves die down slowly.

Seonghwa helps him rinse his hair with shampoo as Hongjoong mourns the demise of his shirt which has accompanied him all through the three hair dyeing sessions.

Hongjoong leans to look at the mirror, one hand holding the blow dryer and the other a comb before Seonghwa directs him to sit on the closed toilet lid, the tense conversation from before lingering in his head. Seonghwa’s hands skilfully dry Hongjoong’s hair as he wills himself to not fall asleep despite the annoying noise of the blow dryer.

“Done,” Seonghwa declares and Hongjoong tilts his head up, the other man’s eyes widening in shock as their eyes meet.

“That bad?” Hongjoong asks, feeling self-conscious as he pushes past Seonghwa to look at the mirror again.

He looks good. Hell, he looks  _ hot. _

Hongjoong doesn’t get why Seonghwa had looked like he was attacked.

Maybe Seonghwa wasn’t into red-haired guys or maybe he just wasn’t into red at all.

“No,” Seonghwa answers finally, “you look hot.”

Hongjoong chokes on his spit, spinning around to watch Seonghwa speed walk out of the bathroom.

It’s not the weirdest thing Seonghwa has ever done but considering the conversation they had minutes ago, this was definitely top three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know what's coming next! ;)
> 
> Let me know what you thought in the comments!
> 
> Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!


	6. Mission Four: Over the Ledge, Over my Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had plotted out events which had to occur in this chapter but I went back and reread the previous chapters and felt like this chapter fit here. It's gonna be a double update this time because I know you guys are tired of the constant push and pull, so to make you happy and myself happy, here's one for me and the next one's for you.
> 
> TW// Suicide ideation//  
Please proceed with caution because one of the main characters, Seonghwa to be specific, experiences a breakdown, inevitably leading him to the conclusion that he doesn't want to live. Since it's Hongjoong's POV, you don't get to see the actual ideation process but it's there. I don't want any of my readers to be affected by it and be triggered so please click away from the fic if you aren't ready for this. For readers who want to carry on, please know that it is always the darkest before the dawn. Once you hit rock bottom, the only way is up so hang on to your belts, it's gonna be wild.

“You’re going to look super hot in that,” Wooyoung says, sounding like one of those bridesmaids of a marriage entourage, all hyped and starry-eyed. Hongjoong is positively disgusted, raising an eyebrow in judgement at the hideous red tank top-crop top hybrid Wooyoung is holding which had way less material than Hongjoong would prefer even on his sluttiest days.

Wooyoung flicks his gaze between the top he’s holding and Hongjoong’s face and sighs to himself.

“Hyung, are you even here right now?”

_ Was he? _

“Maybe not,” Hongjoong admits before he lets his shoulders slump.

The assassination mission was two days away and Hongjoong had woken up in the morning to the realization that he had given away the bulk of his seduction clothes to a thrift store with the assumption that he wouldn’t have to do jobs like that again, which indirectly also meant that he had to go shopping if he intended on grabbing the attention of their target. To make things better, a quick look at the shoe rack had informed him that he was alone, Seonghwa having gone somewhere without prior notice. 

Usually, Seonghwa would leave his door open as a sign that he was out. Rarely though, Hongjoong would find a note on the dining table or a text in one of his burner phones. But today, he’d found nothing.

Even Seonghwa’s room was shut tightly, as if in a silent metaphorical reminder of his attitude towards Hongjoong. The thought itself makes him feel weird so he’s glad when Wooyoung interrupts.

“Let’s just get something quickly and we’ll go to my place,” Wooyoung declares like a man on a mission, tugging Hongjoong forward with a hand clutching the ends of the sleeves of his hoodie.

Hongjoong watches Wooyoung navigate the shop, the familiarity helping them get things done quickly and after they’ve finally settled on a couple of outfits that would scream _‘sexy and borderline slutty_’ according to Wooyoung, they’re off.

It’s one of those days when Hongjoong can’t help but feel like something is going to go terribly wrong and it doesn’t help that Seonghwa has gone MIA. Hongjoong sighs as they walk out into the parking lot of the mall, hands occupied with multiple bags. Wooyoung nudges him with his shoulder.

“What?” Hongjoong asks, blinking himself back to the present.

“Give me your keys. If you drive today, San’s going to end up attending our funeral,” Wooyoung jokes, shifting all the bags on one hand and wiggling his fingers for the keys.

It’s a rather morbid joke to make, but their dynamic has always had space for black humour. Hongjoong is aware that Wooyoung has been having a tough time, the bags under his eyes and the way he isn’t wearing any of his piercings except the one on his helix which San had given him are more than enough clues. Even if Hongjoong himself isn’t in his best moods for the year, he’d have asked, but Wooyoung is in one of those bouts of his when he just wants to avoid the issue and pretend like it doesn’t exist.

And Hongjoong trusts San. Wooyoung never had problems that San couldn’t help with. It worked the other way around too, so Hongjoong doesn’t feel as anxious or concerned about it as he could have been.

Wooyoung waves a hand in front of his face and rolls his eyes, “Sometime today?”

Hongjoong puts the bags down on the asphalt and grabs his keys from his pocket, handing it to Wooyoung but not before he’s smacked the other on his head. Sarcasm was appreciated only when it wasn't used against him.

The younger merely laughs and shakes his head.

Brat, Hongjoong thinks fondly.

They make a pit-stop at a Chinese restaurant on the way to Wooyoung’s apartment to grab some takeout. Hongjoong sits in the car as the younger leaves to buy lunch. 

Hongjoong wouldn’t have agreed so quickly, but he has been restless since they stepped inside the mall, waiting for an opportunity to check his phones. As soon as Wooyoung slams the door shut, Hongjoong opens the glove compartment to check his burner phones and pager for news from Seonghwa, sitting back in disappointment when he finds none.

“Nothing yet?” Wooyoung asks when he comes back, settling down on the driver’s seat, the takeout bags safely in the back seat.

Hongjoong shakes his head, trying to ignore the way his heart warms at how Wooyoung had figured out exactly what was happening.

“It’s just him,” Wooyoung says and pauses as if trying to organize his thoughts, “you know how he gets.”

It’s a lame rationalization, but it’s true. Hongjoong does know how Seonghwa gets, but it had been a couple of months since Seonghwa left like this in the middle of the night without any sort of warning. Hongjoong knows better than to get used to the way things are, especially with Seonghwa because it was always a precarious affair when things involved him, but against better judgement, he has fallen into the trap of an unacknowledged routine and it sucks to have a wake-up call like this.

Hongjoong nearly snorts at himself, not because it’s funny, but because he was such a hopeless fool when it came to Seonghwa despite the multifarious warnings he gave him every day. He had no right to call this a wake-up call when Seonghwa’s name had somehow found itself in his mental dictionary right between the words instability and pain ages ago. Seonghwa could tattoo that on his face and Hongjoong would still be blind to it.

“Doesn’t make it any better,” Hongjoong says and the look Wooyoung throws him in response screams concern. Once Hongjoong went down a lane, there was no coming back. Hongjoong is aware that Wooyoung knows that more than most and that must be why he takes a deep breath and puts a hand on Hongjoong’s, squeezing it in a comforting manner.

The rest of the ride is uncharacteristically silent, but it isn’t completely unfamiliar. Wooyoung isn’t in one of those chatty moods and neither is Hongjoong so it’s more a blessing than a curse. 

When they finally make it to the apartment, San’s wrapped himself like a burrito in his blanket on the couch. The hoodie’s collar which peeks out from the San-shaped cocoon is an ugly yellow, one that Hongjoong distinctly remembers giving Wooyoung in one of his DIY phases in college. 

Hongjoong looks on and feels his heart lurch at the way Wooyoung leans down to press a kiss on San’s fever flushed face, San’s hand coming up to tug the other down to rest their foreheads together.

Hongjoong has never really minded public displays of affection. He’s not fond of doing it himself, but he doesn’t find it annoying when couples do it, though he’s never understood the exact drive behind it. But with San and Wooyoung, it’s an entirely different story because Hongjoong’s never_ not _ been a part of their private circle. Lord knows he’s heard enough of them screaming each other’s names in their shared apartment in college and saw them make out right in front of his metaphorical and literal salads to know how they worked.

Moments like this, they aren’t strange or weird to him. He’s beyond happy for them, but recently, he has been feeling the urge to let his emotions take the wheel and drive him off of a cliff every time they do so much as look at each other in front of him. An awful sort of longing would fill his chest and a familiar, unattainable someone would flash behind his eyelids and it would hurt like someone’s taken needles and started to stab him from his head to toe.

Hongjoong bleeds silently in moments like these and he can never let San or Wooyoung see because saying it would make it real and then, Hongjoong would have no leverage to hold on to. 

That’s the last thing he wants.

San croaks out a hello to him, voice beyond wrecked but still bafflingly soft, somehow managing to make him sound even younger than he is. Wooyoung playfully slaps San on the arm when he does, mumbling about saving energy and scolding him for sleeping out on the couch instead of the bed. Hongjoong merely walks over and fluffs his hair up before stepping away with a small smile.

Wooyoung puts up a finger in a gesture to wait and carefully puts his hands under San, lifting him from the couch. San protests weakly before tucking his head against his boyfriend’s neck. Hongjoong pretends like he doesn’t see San press a kiss there. Wooyoung smiles, brighter than Hongjoong has seen him do the entire day and walks to their bedroom, San safely nestled in his arms, leaving Hongjoong alone with his thoughts.

He listens to the bustle of dishes in the kitchen and figures he should help Wooyoung with whatever he’s making for San. He rubs his palms on his jeans and gets up, Seonghwa’s name a refrain in the back of his mind that just won’t stop.

“What are you making?” Hongjoong asks, already rolling up his sleeves and joining Wooyoung behind the counter, trying to ignore the way his mind refuses to help him focus.

“Chicken noodle soup,” Wooyoung says, silently gesturing at him to chop the carrots as he turns to the refrigerator to grab the chicken.

“You know,” Hongjoong says, looking up after grabbing the knife, “we could have just bought him soup from the restaurant.”

Wooyoung snorts. “He hates it when I get him soup from outside, you know that. I love him, but there’s only so much whining I can take.”

Wooyoung complains, rolling his eyes. Hongjoong wonders if the younger is even aware of how his voice is practically dripping with fondness.

It takes a good few minutes for Wooyoung to come back out after he disappears into the bedroom with the bowl of chicken noodle soup, his foot kicking the door closed. If it was a good day, Hongjoong would tease the hell out of him for the lullaby that had drifted to the living room in the utter silence of the apartment mere moments ago, no doubt at San’s request, but he merely gives him a soft smile as the younger sits down beside him.

“Take him to see a doctor if he’s still sick tomorrow,” Hongjoong says, leaning back against the couch and running a hand over his face.

San had this thing with hospitals, all three of them did and unless he was critically injured, he tended to avoid hospitals so Hongjoong knows the best bet they have is to hope that the flu goes away quickly.

Wooyoung nods, leaning over and opening the takeout bag to get the containers and the chopsticks out. Hongjoong pokes and prods at the food, focusing on the sounds of the rain that had started the second they drove in, mind whirring mile a minute.

“When is the mission?”

Hongjoong freezes, chopsticks in mid-air. The Gangnam mission was like this slow poison-like thing that just refused to get over, bureaucracy and law-enforcement having their own sweet time with it.

“We don’t really know. There’s still some paperwork left.”

Wooyoung hums and Hongjoong is glad that he doesn’t prod further about the specifics. The last thing Hongjoong wants is to trigger a panic attack.

“We’re leaving on Saturday. It’s a three-month-long mission.” Wooyoung’s eyes are glazed over, fixed on a framed picture of him and San on the side of the TV stand.

_ Saturday? _

“Are you, by any chance, going with Mingi?” Hongjoong asks, mind flashing to Mingi mentioning his own mission. It’s rare that KQ sent trios on missions, but it all came down to the matter at hand, especially when partners were involved. 

“Yeah. We’re on lookout. It’s just surveillance. I think he was supposed to go with Donghun and Chan, but there was some last-minute complication so Eden hyung called us up. I think they need the numbers.”

Wooyoung puts the almost-empty container on the coffee table and sits back.

Hongjoong nods, silently euphoric about the relatively less risk that was involved in the mission. Having Mingi involved meant better protection too, not that San or Wooyoung required protection but, Mingi was one of their best strategists and having him on a team with the reckless pair evened things out. If it had been an undercover job or something, it would have been cause for more stress to Hongjoong’s already weak heart filled to the brim with anxiety-inducing things. 

Wooyoung stares at the container for a moment, blatantly zoning out and Hongjoong is debating just biting the bullet and asking him about what was going on when the younger suggests they watch a movie. Hongjoong squints at the younger agent skeptically but gives up when the other directs a pleading look at him. 

_ Not now. _Wooyoung doesn’t say it, but the plea is clear to him.

It’s an animated movie of a boy training a dragon and apparently, it is also San’s new favourite movie of the month. Hongjoong’s eyes zoom in on the dragon every time it is on the frame and he can’t help but draw parallels with Seonghwa. At this point, Hongjoong isn’t sure if he’s projecting or if the universe has just decided to perennially make his life harder by making him associate every single thing with his partner.

San comes out half-way through the movie and before Wooyoung can protest vocally, he settles down on Hongjoong’s side, tucking his face into the gap where Hongjoong’s neck meets his shoulder. Wooyoung makes a whining sound and does the same on Hongjoong’s other side and by the time the movie is ending, Hongjoong has two secret agents cuddled on either side of him, one asleep and other half-way there.

It was a good movie, Hongjoong concludes and it’s easy to see why San likes it.

And it’s a little later when he’s petting Wooyoung’s hair with one hand while his other hand rubs circles on San’s back that Hongjoong realizes how much he’s missed this, just his best friends who are in love and him in their own world.

Hongjoong’s grateful for small mercies because he’s never been the type to dwell too much on the past or the future, choosing to live in the here and now with everything he had.

He tells Wooyoung that before he leaves, after San has demanded to be cuddled for one more hour by Hongjoong and Wooyoung on either side of him, shifting positions to put him in the centre. 

“We’re past the point where it’s just the three of us against the world, but you know I’m always here, right?” He asks, hesitantly, the door shut behind Wooyoung, the younger biting his bottom lip to keep himself in control as he nods in response. San is asleep and Hongjoong is glad because he doesn’t think he can handle both of them getting emotional, not when he was so exhausted. Hongjoong had never been good at multitasking and he doesn’t want to pile on to the heap of regrets by feeling like he didn’t give equal time to both of them.

It’s better like this.

Hongjoong has been distant, especially in the past couple of months because being a secret agent and having a partner like Seonghwa had turned out to be far more than he can handle. He didn’t have the luxury of finding time for them, juggling missions and the conflicting emotions Seonghwa triggered. Even if he tried, he wasn’t able to make room for them, not as much as he would have liked to, not when his head would either shove a heap of anxiety on him or repeat Seonghwa’s name on loop like he shouldn’t think about anything else. He’s guilty, but it was the truth. However, even now, his first instinct, when something uncanny happens, is to dial his best friends. That, Hongjoong is certain, will never change.

Wooyoung pulls him into a hug and says, “I know, hyung. You’ve got a lot on your plate with him. San and I know it’s been killing you, but it’s okay.” Wooyoung pulls back to look him in the eye, “We’re beyond all of that, aren’t we?”

_ They are. _

It’ll be a while, three months, before he’ll see them again and Hongjoong feels like he’s suddenly back to that point in time when he’d graduated and had to move out because of the job. It had been a terrible year with him trying to soak up every minute he would get with the pair. As much as he would like to think of it as the last time they had to stay away for so long, it wasn’t. 

Their missions often clash enough for him to grow familiar with the system, but that hasn’t made any of the times they said goodbye easier. So it’s only natural that there are a few tears involved.

“Talk to him,” Wooyoung says, voice gentle, eyes shining.

If only it was that easy, Hongjoong thinks, but he nods anyway. Wooyoung shakes his head like he sees right through him.

“I’m serious,” he insists.

“I know you are and I wish I could, but all I can promise is that I’ll try.”

Wooyoung doesn’t look satisfied, but he doesn’t press the issue.

Hongjoong doesn’t allow Wooyoung to walk him down to the entrance six floors down. He waves at Wooyoung who still has tears clinging to his eyelashes as he gets into the elevator. Wooyoung would die a thousand times over, Hongjoong would too, before letting anyone see him like that. Being secret agents meant they had to be in control, constantly, but for now, at least in the few moments before they disappear from each other’s views, they can afford this weakness.

The door shuts and Hongjoong feels numbness set in.

The short stint he runs from the entrance to his car soaks him, rain doing its job efficiently. Cold seeps through his clothes and Hongjoong thinks if that’s supposed to be a sign.

Hongjoong drives on auto-pilot and when he’s yelled at by the third person on the road, a man who looked to be in his forties who had rolled the window down and asked him to choose another place to die, he is reminded of what Wooyoung said when he asked for the keys.

The offer was tempting, but Hongjoong had always been a fighter. If he gave up now, there would be no going back and he _ had _ to go back, not going back wasn’t an option, he _ had _ to wait for Seonghwa to come home.

Because if he didn’t, who else would?

***

Hongjoong debates dragging up the shopping bags to his room, but the rain wasn’t letting up and it didn’t look like it would anytime soon either. He decides that he’ll just get them after it stops raining.

The security guard doesn’t even blink as he shakes his head and struts past him as quickly as he can to the elevator. Hongjoong sticks his hand in between the metal doors just as they are about to close and it’s empty, to Hongjoong’s relief. He plasters himself as close as he can to the wall so that he doesn’t get side-eyed for his poor and spontaneous makeover of a wet dog if anyone else decided to join him on the ride to the fourth floor. He is pretty sure that he looks like a proper mess with his red hair stuck to his forehead. 

The water makes the denim jacket and shirt cling to his skin uncomfortably and Hongjoong lets out a long-suffering sigh as he runs his hand through his hair, the dye still bleeding and staining his hand a light cerise. 

Silently, he wonders if his face has red trails from his hair. This day really couldn’t get any better.

But it seems like the universe had decided to cut him some slack because no one enters the elevator on his way up to his apartment. He’s beating himself up over not getting his burner phones from the glove compartment when the elevator opens at his floor. 

Hongjoong reaches the door to his apartment with four large strides, stretching the capacity of his admittedly short legs. The woman who lives in the apartment next to his is talking to a man at her doorway. Her smile fades when Hongjoong makes eye contact with her as he shoves his hands down his pocket to look for his keys. She pauses awkwardly in her conversation as if seeing Hongjoong has made her entire thought process go off the rails. The man notices her looking his way and twists his head around to give him a neutral look.

Hongjoong finds his keys and puts it in the lock, feeling a little unsettled from the probing looks he’d received outside. The door clicks shut behind him as he takes his shoe off and switches the light on, evening beginning to set in, dipping the apartment in the bare minimum light that poked through the rain clouds, visibility low.

Hongjoong notices that something is wrong only when he walks to the living room, looking behind him to see that there’s a trail of water separate from his wet footsteps. He’s soaked but not enough to drip water all over the floor and the only other person who had access to this place was Seonghwa.

Hongjoong feels his feet take him to Seonghwa’s room, mind flitting in a million directions at the possibility of Seonghwa having come home. 

The door is ajar and Hongjoong pushes it wider, panic overtaking his senses at the complete mess it is. 

_ Had someone broken in during the time Hongjoong was out? _

Hongjoong steps inside the room, trying his best to not step on the clothes strewn on the floor, a suitcase wide open, the covers hanging off of the bed. Even the mattress is halfway dragged off the bed, suspended precariously but still staying on the bed frame only due to some aid from gravity. Seonghwa’s headphones and music player are all trashed on the floor, broken, like someone had stepped on them.

Seonghwa hated it when things were messy. Enough that it had been one of the very few things he’d told Hongjoong in their first few months of knowing each other. Hongjoong didn’t mind living in disorganized chaos, his room in a constant state of organized disarray depending on his mood for the day.

Seonghwa though, he liked order. From his shoes to the way he arranged cutlery, Seonghwa had a keen eye for detail and some borderline obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Even Hongjoong had grown susceptible to his tendencies and tried his best to accommodate the other’s habit by keeping things organized in the best way he could, at least in the spaces they shared like the kitchen and the living room. 

And Seonghwa, picky, tidy, systematic Seonghwa who liked his routine and stuck to it like a man who didn’t know anything else would never let his room get this messy. Hongjoong leans down to pick the headphones up, head going immediately into agent mode. 

If it really was an intruder who had broken into his home, then Hongjoong would hunt the motherfucker down and make him pay for touching what belonged to Seonghwa. Hongjoong’s hands are trembling from adrenaline and rage when his eyes fall on one of the boots that had been missing from the shoe rack, a pair of brown leather boots Hongjoong knew Seonghwa favoured when he went out. It is then that the picture registers in its entirety in his head. The front door didn’t show any signs of a break in and the living room had also been in the exact state he left it. 

If only Seonghwa’s room was trashed, and no one had broken into their place, had Seonghwa returned? If so, where the fuck was Seonghwa?

Hongjoong pales, suddenly feeling like he’s been doused with a pall of freezing cold water. He sprints to the door, not caring about putting on shoes, heart beating miles a minute at the scenarios his brain was weighing and considering with every second lost. Hongjoong swings the door open, ready to run down to his car and go looking for Seonghwa, but he halts in his steps when the door gives way to reveal the woman from the next apartment stand outside, her hands curled into a fist, poised to knock.

Hongjoong knows he hasn’t been playing the role of the ideal neighbour, but this wasn’t the time for apologizing for it. In fact, the woman really couldn’t have picked a worse opportunity than this. Hongjoong feels adrenaline kick in full swing and he really needed the woman to go away so that he could get a move on and find Seonghwa. Fuck, what was happening?

The woman must notice how crazed he looks because she opens her mouth and presses it into a thin line.

“Can I help you?” Hongjoong asks, heart pounding in his chest with mounting fear and concern. It’s a normal question, but he doesn’t phrase it in a polite manner, hoping that being a dick would scare the woman away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but uh your…” she pauses like she’s looking for the right words, gulping when Hongjoong’s glare intensifies, hoping that the look lets her know that this interruption isn’t appreciated. “Your boyfriend was on the roof. My kids were playing there when it started raining so I was coming down with them when he was going up.”

Hongjoong feels fear shut down his vocal cords. He doesn’t even attempt to clarify that Seonghwa isn’t his boyfriend because he really can’t seem to bring himself to refute it in this condition and also because more than half of the residents at the apartment complex thought that of them already.

The woman stares at his face and his lack of response and takes a deep breath, explaining further.

“I told him that it was raining, but he didn’t seem to care and he was already fully soaked like he’d just come from the rain. He didn’t look alright, sort of like he was zoning out.”

Hongjoong blinks a couple of times, taking in the gravity of the situation and steeling himself for the possibilities even as fear crawls up his throat and makes his eyes sting.

_ Seonghwa, what are you doing? _

Hongjoong barely gets a mumble of gratitude out before he sprints up the eight flights of stairs to the roof, the sound of the rain getting louder the closer he got. The door to the roof is already open and Hongjoong heaves as he steps into the rain. The water pelts down on him like stones with their sheer force. His breath leaves his body and returns as his vision focuses on Seonghwa, despite the rain blurring his view. Seonghwa is staring down from the edge of the roof, the concrete railing the only barrier between him and eternal oblivion. 

Seonghwa is standing scarily still, his black t-shirt clinging to his body, dark hair matted to his scalp. Hongjoong steps forward, his pace slow but loud enough to be heard over the rain so that he doesn’t startle him too badly.

Seonghwa’s shoulders are slumped, like he’s failed himself, like there’s too many burdens he has to carry that holding on to something was a possibility he couldn’t consider anymore. Hongjoong’s heart shatters into smithereens and he registers in the haze that is his mind that he hasn’t even made eye contact with him yet. 

“Seonghwa,” he calls softly, staying a few feet away so that he doesn’t overwhelm him by getting up close.

For a few moments, Seonghwa doesn’t respond and Hongjoong wonders if he hadn’t heard him over the sound of the rain. He’s about to call his name again when Seonghwa turns around. 

Seonghwa’s eyes are empty as they focus on Hongjoong. He looks so blank and vulnerable like this, his eyes tinted red, the rain pouring down on him mercilessly. Hongjoong feels his knees go weak, but he restrains himself from falling on his knees in front of Seonghwa. He lets his gaze leave Seonghwa’s face and rake over the length of his body. Hongjoong stumbles back a step when he finally processes the Glock clutched desperately in Seonghwa’s hand, his skin white with how tightly he’s holding it.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong calls, terror bleeding into his voice as it breaks on the second syllable of his name, thinning to barely a whisper.

Seonghwa merely looks on like Hongjoong is just some hallucination that his head has designed for him, like he’s done playing games and is just waiting for strife to rain down and seize him by his heart.

But there’s something else too.

The image is clear, a figurine who has damned himself to his demise is standing before him and yet, Hongjoong wants to try, wants this man who has become the focal point of his thoughts and his pain to come to him and let the world burn at his behest.

It’s pouring down hard and Hongjoong’s vision is like a camera in the hands of an amateur photographer, focusing on all the wrong things because of the rain, but Hongjoong has been doing this job for so long that his eyes are instinctively drawn to the slightest inconsistencies. Seonghwa is a picture-perfect statue, unmoving, completely still, a true effigy of a broken man who has seen too much, way beyond his age should allow him to, but there’s something incongruous, an element out of place. His lean and pale fingers are trembling around his death grip on the weapon.

Knowing Seonghwa from the bits and pieces he’s gathered and cherished over the course of their acquaintance with each other, Hongjoong is aware that this must be a truly offensive action, to tremble holding the one thing that was there when people gave up, when you were truly alone, when days and nights were spent thinking of the next splatter of blood, the next secret that would land you in danger. Seonghwa must feel terrifyingly out of control for this slightest movement to manifest like this before Hongjoong and betray how he’s just a man beneath all the stoic looks and trained silence.

But Seonghwa has always been more than the neglect he gave him most days, more than the quiet, more than the skepticism and the tentative trust which characterised their barely-there bond.

Seonghwa is his partner and if Hongjoong had any say in it today, he will walk down to their apartment with Seonghwa intact or plunge to the unknown with him if that’s what Seonghwa wants.

It’s dangerous to live like that, but Hongjoong has never known it any other way so he can only hold that it was fair. He’s never claimed to be the model citizen to look up to either so he figures it _ is _ fair.

“Let’s go down, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, stretching his hand out with a plea running from his palm to the tip of his fingers.

“I don’t want to,” Seonghwa replies, taking a few moments to himself. He sounds like a chain-smoker who hasn’t talked in years, voice raw and hurt.

“But I do. I want you to. I _ want _you to come down with me, Seonghwa.”

Hongjoong hears his voice crack twice, Seonghwa flinching at the first one, his eyes which were not as vacant as they were some minutes ago traversing the planes of Hongjoong’s face.

"I know we aren't close. I know we don't know much about each other, but what I know is enough to ask this of you. Just please… please, Seonghwa."

Hongjoong will offer everything that he is to pull Seonghwa from the railing and away from danger. It would be easy to quickly step in and grab him by the hand because of the proximity, but he wants to talk Seonghwa down so that he doesn’t move too quickly or in defiance of Hongjoong messing up his plans.

He doesn’t want to pull the trigger on a loaded gun with its safety off.

“Why would you?” Seonghwa asks, like he can’t possibly fathom why anyone would want him to live.

“Because you are my partner.” Hongjoong sees Seonghwa flinch at the word, but he carries on with the flood that’s gathering at the back of his throat, a myriad of words which couldn’t even hold a candle to how Hongjoong truly felt slipping from his mouth in a desperate attempt to convince Seonghwa to stay. “Because there was trust between us when I agreed to have you in my space even if I didn’t know you, because you’re kind beneath all the masks you put on, because you hate hurting people, but you know that taking down one bad man could save millions and you willingly do that. You step out into the world and become a killer for the protection of people who don’t even know you and because you live with that guilt and you constantly drown in it. Because you are all I have when I go out into the field and when I’m feeling empty, all I know for certain is your beating heart in the apartment.”

Hongjoong is crying at this point, tears merging with the rain and throat nearly giving up on him, but he will give up everything he is, spit out the jagged words which could rip apart the facade he’s created for them, he’ll bare his heart open, if it meant Seonghwa would come back.

“I am going to hurt you. All I do…” Seonghwa steps closer to him, Hongjoong trying his best to not make the other aware that he’s stepping away from his decision in his attempt to talk to him. “All I do is hurt the people around me, Hongjoong. You deserve better than that.”

It’s the stupidest thing Hongjoong has ever heard Seonghwa say, but he knows that when people reach their breaking point, logic was the last thing on their list of priorities. If anything, it was Seonghwa who deserved better than Hongjoong could ever hope to give him.

“I’ll decide that for myself, Seonghwa. Please,” Hongjoong looks straight at him, “just please come home.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widen like Hongjoong has just taken a broken shard of glass and stabbed him with it. 

“It hurts,” Seonghwa confesses.

Hongjoong freezes at the words, and just barely reigns himself in from tackling the other in a hug.

“It’s never going to go away, is it?” Seonghwa asks. Hongjoong has no idea what he’s talking about, but he is not beyond making fake promises if that would make Seonghwa rethink.

“It will. I don’t know what you’re going through or how you reached this point, but it will heal, Seonghwa. Time heals everything. Even if it didn't, I promised I'll be here, right? I intend to keep that promise forever, Seonghwa. If you can trust just one thing in your life, trust this."

Seonghwa doesn’t look like he believes a word coming out of Hongjoong’s mouth, but he lets out a deep breath and swallows, throat bobbing visibly. He closes his eyes like Hongjoong has given him something to think about and that, for the moment, seems enough.

Seonghwa shoves the Glock in his pocket and puts his hand on Hongjoong’s cramping one. It is probably the fear finally diffusing a little which makes Hongjoong pull the other into a tight embrace. Any other day, Hongjoong wouldn't dare touch Seonghwa, not like this, not without debating a million deaths for himself, but today, all he can provide is physical comfort and what will that say about him, if he didn't do that for the subject of all his thoughts. 

“Hongjoong, what..” Seonghwa trails off.

Hongjoong cries into his shoulder and rubs circles onto his back, sighing in relief.

“Please… let me have this for a moment,” Hongjoong pleads, feeling Seonghwa’s breath hitch at it so he continues, just so Seonghwa would know he has a space to break down in when Hongjoong is holding him. “You can let go, Seonghwa. It’s just me. You don’t have to bottle it in. Not with me."

That seems to be the spell which unwinds Seonghwa because his arms go around Hongjoong, pressing them closer together, the rain the only witness to the biggest breakthrough in their partnership. Hongjoong holds Seonghwa for what seems like an eternity as he lets out barely audible but heartbreaking whimpers against the skin of his neck.

Breakdowns were a perpetual part of their job description once the initial adrenaline rush died down. Hongjoong is no stranger to them but today’s incident was confirmation that there was something which had wronged Seonghwa, something so awful that he was still hurting, still dealing with the after-effects and a part of Hongjoong knows he should ask, but he doesn’t want to poke an open wound.

Seonghwa presses a kiss against his ear, his lips catching on the dragon piercing Hongjoong is wearing, but Hongjoong isn’t brave enough to ask what the act of affection is supposed to mean.

One look at Seonghwa tells him that it’s an apology and gratitude rolled into one, but there’s something else beyond the guarded gaze of Seonghwa. Hongjoong blinks and it’s gone so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined it.

But that doesn’t matter, none of it matters as long as he can convince Seonghwa to take it one day at a time.

***

Hongjoong can't keep himself from stealing glances at Seonghwa as they walk down the stairs to their apartment. With the adrenaline dying down, Hongjoong feels the pain in his chest intensify at the realization of what exactly had transpired. The fear at the possibility that had he arrived a moment later, he would have walked into a world without Seonghwa nags behind his throat. 

Seonghwa is quiet behind him, the only sound the squelch of his feet as they trail water down the stairs. He's an inaudible presence, but he's here and if he didn't want to, Hongjoong would barely hear him so he appreciates it for what it is.

Hongjoong hopes that the woman from next door isn't waiting for him to return with Seonghwa and he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the empty hallway. Seonghwa follows behind, staying a little closer to Hongjoong than he is used to, but he doesn't complain.

Whatever Seonghwa wanted, he would get it. 

Hongjoong will make sure he gets it.

Seonghwa shuffles to his room, feet dragging and Hongjoong walks even slower behind him to observe his reaction, seeing how his face falls at the mess. There isn't regret, just exhaustion setting in at how he can rest only if he cleans up.

"You can sleep in my room. We'll clean up tomorrow," Hongjoong says, an offer, slowly tugging Seonghwa to his room with his hand on his wrist. Seonghwa glances down at the point where their skin meets, but he welcomes the touch without question. 

"I don't want to impose," Seonghwa mumbles after he’s taken a few steps forward, sounding like he'd been running a marathon all week and is dead beat, like his body is refusing to move an inch more. 

"Seonghwa," Hongjoong calls, making sure he sounds like he wants Seonghwa to listen, "I'll be the crappiest person on the planet if I let you sleep in your room when I know that messy places make you uncomfortable."

Seonghwa fixes his gaze on Hongjoong and presses his lips into a thin line before he nods.

Hongjoong shivers, the rain having soaked through his clothes and his skin, making him feel like he's freezing from the inside. Seonghwa is pale, his hair still dripping water down his face, but he doesn't shiver. He's tense like he's barely holding it in. 

Hongjoong offers to get Seonghwa his clothes from his room and marches out before Seonghwa can tell him otherwise. 

When he returns, there's a small puddle around Seonghwa's feet, water dripping down his jeans and spreading. His eyes are set on the framed picture of San and Wooyoung on his bedside table, their slightly younger selves euphoric in the moment captured by Hongjoong. 

Perhaps it’s how defeated Seonghwa looks, or perhaps it's the yearning palpable in that single look, but Hongjoong who has always dug his fingers on the people he loves and clutched them tight to his side so that they'd never be lost to him in the tide, wants to keep Seonghwa. He wants to tell Seonghwa that he cares, that he'd let him step all over him if it meant he'd know that someone in this wretched world cares for him. 

Hongjoong knows he isn't much, but he hopes that he can be the _ something _ that makes Seonghwa rethink when he reaches the end of the line, when the light at the end of the tunnel shrivels and dies right in front of him. 

Hongjoong is contemplating whether to interrupt the other when Seonghwa breaks his gaze and turns to face him. Hongjoong wordlessly hands him the clothes. Grabbing them with a trembling hand which must be the doing of the dulling adrenaline, Seonghwa walks to the bathroom to change. 

Hongjoong stares at the door even after it has closed and shakes himself from his reverie when he realizes what he's doing. 

He is pulling on a dry shirt when Seonghwa walks out, his hair still wet. Hongjoong briefly freezes just as Seonghwa does, both of them exhaling in sync. 

Hongjoong pats his respectably dry hair down so that it won't look like the plumes of an ungroomed phoenix due to its stint with his towel. He is susceptible to colds and it often didn't take too long for a runny nose to turn into a fever and with a mission upcoming, he doesn't want to have a stuffy voice or an aching body as his weapons. 

Hongjoong pointedly glances at Seonghwa’s hair, feeling the urge to dry his hair for him. He isn’t certain if Seonghwa would appreciate the gesture though so he just walks to him and hands him another towel. Seonghwa gazes at it in confusion but takes it anyway. 

The silence is stretching thin when Seonghwa sits at the foot of Hongjoong’s bed, covering his head with the towel. Hongjoong sneaks a glance from where he’s been pretending to arrange the folded bedsheets to see that Seonghwa is just sitting there.

Unmoving.

With a towel on his head.

Like he didn’t have the energy to even dry his hair.

Hongjoong should probably not do this, but there’s something so incredibly heartbreaking about the picture that Seonghwa paints with his head bent forward and a towel covering his face from view. Seonghwa flinches when Hongjoong touches the towel, but he doesn’t lift his head or react otherwise. 

“Seonghwa, can I dry your hair?” He asks, hands still touching the soft threads.

Seonghwa nods and it’s barely discernible, but Hongjoong takes it for what it is. He makes sure his movements are light, not how he’d dry his hair with erratic movements that often left him feeling a little dizzy. 

Once he’s done, Hongjoong lifts the towel, hesitating before touching Seonghwa’s hair to check if it’s at least moderately dry. What he doesn’t expect is for Seonghwa to lean forward and bury his face in Hongjoong’s stomach, his breath warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. 

It’s devastating.

Hongjoong feels a shiver run down his spine, but he keeps still, slowly coming to terms with the move and motivating himself to smooth Seonghwa’s hair down. Seonghwa’s hands are cold and tight around him, but Hongjoong doesn’t focus on any of it because Seonghwa was seeking comfort and he’d rather die than pull away from this Seonghwa who is clearly a planet which has strayed from its orbit, a fire attempting to kindle in a subzero space. He’s so clearly overwhelmed and exhausted so Hongjoong just…

Hongjoong holds him. He holds him with the fingers of his one hand carding gently through his hair and the other playing with the slightly rough strands on his nape because that’s all he can offer when he doesn’t know the exact course this breakdown is a result of.

And Seonghwa…

Seonghwa _lets_ him.

He hides his face in Hongjoong’s stomach and just breathes, warmth hitting Hongjoong’s skin in bouts through the thin layer of clothing.

It feels like an eternity later when Seonghwa pulls away and he looks up at Hongjoong with glazed eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding genuinely grateful.

“You don’t have to thank me for holding you, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, hoping that his tone conveys how absurd it is to be grateful to someone for being a decent human being.

Seonghwa looks at him like he’s supposed to infer more from his words, but Hongjoong is wiped from the day so he just stares at the other like he’s an idiot and therefore needs him to spell it out for him.

“I didn’t mean that,” Seonghwa says, scrunching up his face like what he’s voicing is something particularly distasteful, like he can’t believe what he’s going to admit, “I’m not thanking you for that. I’m thanking you for being here even when I haven’t given you the time of day. For promising something I know is hard for you.”

The knowledge that the way Seonghwa acts with him is planned and intentional has always been something Hongjoong was aware of. He didn’t need it in writing to take a hint, but when given the chance, he’s tried to push the boundaries they operated in because he knows that at the end of the day, if something were to happen to them, chances were high that the last thing they saw would be each other, because he knows that beyond the quiet and the bare acknowledgements, Seonghwa does care, because he knows that one day Seonghwa will let him in.

“It’s fine,” Hongjoong says, voice feeble.

“It isn’t, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, guilt coloring his voice.

“Well, you aren’t going to do anything about it so just let it be,” Hongjoong says and he looks up from the floor to meet Seonghwa’s stricken eyes, hurt swimming in their depths.

“I want to. I want to do something about it. Believe me,” Seonghwa pleads, fingers clasped tightly together.

Hongjoong is weak, so damn weak when it comes to Seonghwa. He barely knows this man and it shouldn’t feel this way, _ he _ shouldn’t feel this way, but Hongjoong can’t remember a time when he was good at control when Seonghwa was involved, so the words just slip past him.

“I do. I know you want to,” Hongjoong admits, pursing his lips right after. Seonghwa searches his face and gets up, making all the wrong assumptions.

“I’ll go to my room,” Seonghwa says slowly, tentatively, like he’s figured the exact opposite of what Hongjoong is thinking.

Hongjoong is so beyond tired that he can’t bring himself to explain what he meant, that all he can manage is a weak mumble.

“Seonghwa, stay, please.”

It must be a trick of the light that makes Seonghwa’s eyes shiny because there was no way Seonghwa would react so viscerally to a pathetic plea from Hongjoong.

They don’t bother with dinner that night. It was hard to make yourself eat something when you had just been standing on a ledge with the one person whose face you wanted to see before you died.

Hongjoong shifts closer to the edge of the bed, lying with his back to Seonghwa so that he doesn’t do something stupid like hugging him in his sleep.

He waits for Seonghwa to join him for a good long twenty minutes, but the other settles down at the chair and resolutely stares at the assortment of colored pens in the penholder.

Hongjoong sits up, every muscle in his body drained of energy but knowing they needed to work because Hongjoong had things to do.

"Seonghwa, come to bed," he says, his voice sounding much different as he says it, a strain of intimacy bleeding through.

Seonghwa lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head, refusing to look at Hongjoong.

In the time Hongjoong has known Seonghwa, the other had always had nightmares. He is no stranger to them too. There's a reason why they'd adapted so quickly to seeing each other leaning against a wall or the cupboards in the kitchen, or lying on the floor merely staring at the ceiling in the night. That day at the balcony, when Seonghwa had pressed desperate and possessive fingers against his hips and kissed him like he'd never wanted to kiss another again and pulled him to his bed and laid down with him, that was one of the few times Hongjoong remembers the other not dealing with a nightmare. In the third mission they'd been assigned as partners, Hongjoong remembers a night at a hotel in Berlin, where Seonghwa and he had had to share a bed because the hotel had only had a room left. That had been the first time they slept together. Seonghwa had thrashed around in his bed because of a nightmare and Hongjoong had stepped in throwing caution to the wind. He still had a tiny scar on his neck from where Seonghwa had pressed a knife against his throat in panic at seeing him.

Hongjoong might not be the smartest person, but he wasn't dumb either. It didn't take a detective to figure out why Seonghwa was sitting at the table and refused to lie in his bed.

But he needed confirmation.

"Are you scared?" The resounding silence answers for Seonghwa so Hongjoong digs further. "About what?"

Seonghwa huffs as if he is frustrated with himself. "I'm going to hurt you."

Hongjoong's stomach twists at the absolute certainty in his partner's voice.

"Seonghwa, we've talked about this before. You won't hurt me."

Seonghwa huffs out a laugh without humour.

"The scar on your neck begs to differ."

Hongjoong hates how his hand unconsciously touches the side of his neck, pressing against the skin where the scar is located.

"It happens," Hongjoong says, Seonghwa shaking his head in denial, but Hongjoong ploughs on, "It does happen. Our domain of work doesn't ensure safety and the shit we have to deal with? That's enough material for nightmares to last a lifetime so I am not going to hold it against you if you panic from a nightmare. I'm not defenseless, Seonghwa. I can defend myself just fine. If I didn't, Berlin would have been my last mission." Seonghwa flinches at the statement, but he doesn't deny it because it's true. Had Hongjoong not subdued Seonghwa and disarmed him, Hongjoong would have died a graphic death. "And just... having nightmares doesn't mean you just stop... sleeping. So just come to bed."

Seonghwa looks at him like he has grown two heads, like he can't believe how unreasonable Hongjoong is being.

"I'll defend myself if I have to so just come and sleep," Hongjoong assures.

"It isn't fair to you," Seonghwa spits, rage simmering under the surface.

"What isn't?" Hongjoong demands.

"That you have to be on guard while you're asleep too. God knows we do that enough in this job."

Seonghwa sounds like he's let Hongjoong down by him having nightmares. It's a twisted logic.

"Seonghwa, you can't help it. I know that. So just let it be, it's okay."

Seonghwa still doesn't look convinced. Hongjoong sighs again. They hadn't talked about the night at the balcony, but it's what followed after which springs to Hongjoong's mind.

"Remember that night," _when we kissed_, Hongjoong doesn't say, covering it with, "when you cried and we slept in your bed? It was fine then. You didn't hurt me. What if you'll have a good night's sleep like that night?"

Seonghwa ducks his gaze like he's guilty about it, but Hongjoong can't figure out if he's guilty for kissing him or for not talking to him about it. Either way, Hongjoong doesn't dwell on it because Seonghwa doesn't refute this rationalization. He had been standing on a ledge mere hours ago, ready to end it all. Hongjoong is no idiot to assume that Seonghwa wouldn't end up having nightmares tonight of all nights, but he wants Seonghwa to at least try to sleep, no matter what happens in the aftermath of a battle lost to oblivion.

When Seonghwa finally gets up, shuffling over to the bed, Hongjoong lies down, pulling the covers over his body, hoping to all hope that Seonghwa gets some sleep tonight.

***

Sleep evades Hongjoong and he stares as the minutes march on the digital clock on his bedside table. Before he knows it, it’s two in the night and realization befalls Hongjoong that he’s been wide awake since eight. 

They’d lied down together then. 

It’s nothing new, but his head reminds him that he’s been staring blankly at the red dots on a black display for six whole hours when he’d thought that he’d be asleep before he hit the bed.

Hongjoong turns around to take a look at Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa’s eyelashes fan over his cheeks, the dim glow of the lamp casting shadows of them over his skin. His face is slightly swollen and flushed from the disaster the day was. 

He’s so damn beautiful, Hongjoong thinks with a pang in his chest.

He had _ lost _ this man today. The dam in his chest overflows at the moment the thought forms and Hongjoong stares at Seonghwa as tears flow silently and wet his pillow. Seonghwa had gotten so close to ending himself.

The sheer feeling of purposelessness Hongjoong feels at the mere prospect of living in a world without Seonghwa isn’t a groundbreaking revelation.

It’s not a revelation at all, honestly.

Hongjoong has known for a while.

But what he knows doesn’t matter, all he has to focus on is helping Seonghwa, in whichever way he knows, with all that he is.

Morning will come and take this away from them. Seonghwa might swing back to his old ways, but the way Seonghwa initiated a hug, asked for it without words, Hongjoong will take that as permission to be there by his side, no matter the consequences.

If he had to break himself for Seonghwa to help himself, he’d do it.

No questions asked.

Seonghwa's eyes blink open, a barely audible groan escaping him and Hongjoong nearly scrambles away in shock. He had really thought that the other man was asleep. Hongjoong is about to ask him why he was awake when he closes his eyes again, breathing evening out in seconds.

It takes a moment to register that Seonghwa had been asleep, but that he'd only woken up momentarily to see if Hongjoong was still there.

The realization strikes him in the chest like a ring dagger being thrown his way.

Seonghwa's peaceful expression though, it's worth the bleeding heart to Hongjoong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love Seongjoong as spies, this fic is draining me by the second y'all. Thank you for reading, guys! You guys are the MVP!
> 
> PS: Shoutout to Miss K, a dear warrior, for their support and love over the past couple of days. I hope you know how much I appreciate you reaching out.
> 
> Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!


	7. Mission Five: Dagger throws and Night woes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More missions and heartbreak? I got you guys covered! And the rating finally comes to life~

Hongjoong stares at the number plate of the car in front of them before he shifts his gaze to watch the green holo glitter nail polish on his fingers shift colours. His fingers are drumming an uneven beat on his thighs, nerves getting the best of him as time ticks past. They’re waiting four blocks away from the club for their tech guy, Yunho, to join them in the car. It was a last-minute shift in plan resulting from a quick call courtesy of Eden mere hours ago.

Hongjoong feels sweat pool under the sapphire blue velvet crop top he’s wearing, heart pounding at a pace which was becoming normal with how often he got nervous these days. His favourite denim jacket is loosely draped over his shoulders but it does nothing to make the feeling of being exposed go away. He bunches the sides of the jacket closer together, Seonghwa turning to give him a look at the aggressive tugging of fabric. 

There’s an odd nervous feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach and maybe, some external motivation would be nice, but he doesn’t demand Seonghwa for it. It’s probably because it's been a while since Hongjoong has had to get down and dirty on a job, but nonetheless, he has to do it, so he just mentally runs over his expression inventory for all the lewd contortions he’ll have to do with his facial muscles for a week, starting today.

Seonghwa turns to him and flicks his gaze over the length of his body, hand tightening on the steering wheel for some reason Hongjoong can’t decipher. 

“Are you nervous?” Seonghwa asks, frowning after a couple of rather tense moments. It’s a valid question because no matter his insecurities and tension regarding a mission, Hongjoong doesn’t think Seonghwa has seen it manifest physically like this before. So, it makes sense that the other has decided to confirm rather than assume.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong admits after a second of contemplation. “I haven’t worked a job like this in a while so I’m just worried if I look okay, if I’ll act natural or blow my cover the second I walk in.”

It’s more than Hongjoong wants to let Seonghwa know, but it’s like his brain decides to assist him in diffusing his worries, figuring that saying it out loud would, perhaps, help.

“You don’t have to worry. You look…” Seonghwa coughs, flitting his gaze around, Hongjoong’s mind flashing back to the last time Seonghwa started a line with that a week ago, “You look good.”

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow at the odd expression Seonghwa is sporting but accepts the compliment anyway, sighing in relief at the word choice. He doesn’t think his weak heart could take Seonghwa calling him hot _ twice _ in a row.

He’s fully prepared to sit in silence and fuss over his intended mannerisms when Seonghwa interrupts his line of thought.

“Did you do a lot of missions like _ thi _s?” Seonghwa asks, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

Hongjoong skims his gaze over Seonghwa’s face as subtly as he can, feeling a little off-kilter at how talkative Seonghwa was being in his standards. That doesn’t mean he appreciates it any less though. Hongjoong figures that Seonghwa is shy to just ask outright about his mission history, but it also throws him off balance because Seonghwa _ really _ wasn’t the curious type. He frowns to himself, skeptical about the impetus behind the question but indulges him anyway.

“Kind of. I’m built small… so it’s easier for me to draw people in. Eden used to tell me to take advantage of that,” Hongjoong replies, fiddling with the stretchy fabric of the black leggings he’s wearing. 

Seonghwa nods and sets his eyes on the SUV parked in front of them. 

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa calls again a good few minutes later, but then silence fills the space between them. It’s a few minutes later when Seonghwa asks, “Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?”

It’s sweet of Seonghwa to be worried, but Hongjoong doesn’t think they have the option to be picky with their missions. They _ had _ to do what they were assigned and unless significant trauma, like in Wooyoung’s case, was involved or some other temporal complications, you couldn’t really step out of a mission.

Hongjoong nods, wanting to change the topic of conversation because as much as he liked Seonghwa caring, he doesn’t want to get derailed from how he’s groomed himself for the mission mentally. He looks out to the sidewalk through the tinted window to see a beanie clad, long-limbed familiar figure stride closer.

“There’s Yunho,” Hongjoong says, pointing at the taller man, glad for the interruption.

Seonghwa tilts his head to confirm and unlocks the car. The look he directs at Yunho is scathing. Hongjoong wonders if there’s a story there. Yunho waves at them with a bright smile before he opens the door and plops down on the back seat. 

“Woah!” He exclaims, jaw dropping comically as soon as his eyes land on Hongjoong. “Looking super fuckable, hyung. With a capital F.”

Hongjoong feels red creep up his skin and he chortles nervously, simultaneously wanting to crawl over to the backseat and smack the younger for the lewd wink he directs at Hongjoong.

Seonghwa doesn’t seem like he appreciates the comment as is clear from him clearing his throat, looking like he’s going to blow a fuse any moment.

“Hello to you too, Seonghwa hyung,” Yunho carries on, as if he doesn’t sense the deadly aura seeping off of Seonghwa in visible waves. Hongjoong has known the younger since he joined KQ so he knows that it’s just well-concealed sarcasm than complete ignorance.

“Did you bring the bugs?” Hongjoong asks, shifting his torso so that he can face Yunho without breaking his neck. They don’t have time to exchange pleasantries because his shift was beginning soon, but it doesn’t bother him much and by the looks of it, Yunho didn’t particularly care too.

Hongjoong’s supposed to play the part of a bartender at the shady bar their target frequented for his business and physical pursuits every Thursday. The establishment is low-key, one of those places you can find only if you know exactly what to look for. Their lookout agent had informed that the target often took someone from the bar to a five-star hotel nearby after the business part of the night was over. 

Eden had alerted them to the fact that they had an insider there, someone who’s been undercover for around four years since the place was a hub of criminal activity, drug deals, the perfect residence to the whole crime shebang. It was understandable because if crime was proliferating anywhere, chances were high that there would be someone from KQ there. It was as simple as that. Their agent had run out of tech supply and wasn’t in a situation where he could easily slip away and grab it from the tech team because one of the kingpins had recently ordered a hit on him, something he’d narrowly avoided with a web of complicated lies. 

The last thing they needed was for an agent who gave up four years of his life living undercover to end up dead under their watch. 

“So these are bugs which can be charged,” Yunho turns the cluster of small insect-like devices in his palm, “He doesn’t have to run to the convenience store every time he runs out of batteries to charge the bugs. Just give him this box and ask him to follow REC, he’ll know what to do.”

Hongjoong nods, grabbing the ring box-sized container after Yunho has deposited the bugs in it. He leans down and slips one boot off, stripping a panel of the heel to put the box inside, readjusting it when the box fits snugly inside the platform heel.

“What about the metal detector outside?” Seonghwa asks, directing the question at Yunho, a stray glance thrown at Hongjoong like there’s something on his face. Hongjoong unconsciously pats his right cheek and chances a glance at his fingers after, finding it bare.

“It’s just cheap plastic and some alloy wires, hyung. They aren’t going to detect it.” Seonghwa grunts in response, seemingly content with the answer and nods to himself.

With the help of their agent, Hongjoong had been able to already score a job as the bartender at the club. His previous streak with bartending had helped in the interview which was really just him mixing drinks and refreshing his memory as the manager of the club tried to grind against him. The man had smelled like liquor and cheap perfume and Hongjoong had focussed on the potent smell of the champagne bottle he kept open next to him so that he wouldn’t gag on the foul smell the man emitted. The man had been insistent though, at one point even going so far as to grabbing a handful of his ass.

Hongjoong doesn’t know what had prompted him to keep that particular detail from Seonghwa.

Hongjoong had lived up to the cover though. He’d turned around and run a sharp painted nail over the man’s face, whispering a promise for a good night if he hired him, not intending to keep his word at all. 

Scoring the job, in conclusion, was as easy as pie.

Having intimate knowledge of the target’s dalliances with the club, Eden had suggested that Hongjoong join on a Friday and work there till the coming Thursday so that he could get the job done quickly and efficiently without giving much away. The mission window was a week, only because of Eden’s absolute, unshakeable faith in Hongjoong’s seduction techniques.

The only part of the equation which Hongjoong didn’t like was that Seonghwa wasn’t on lookout. Instead, Eden had asked them to have Seonghwa in the club too, to keep an eye on Hongjoong because apparently the club didn’t take kindly to newcomers.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” Eden had said, the line crackling. “But that place is shitty, Hongjoong. That’s why I want Seonghwa inside.”

Yunho was going to accompany them too, but just as lookout and a getaway driver if things took a turn for the worse, the senior agent mentioning that the younger needed field experience. Hongjoong was just glad that Yunho would be waiting outside the club instead of inside it, parked as close to the establishment as possible without raising red flags.

“Time for me to go,” Hongjoong announces, flipping the mirror closed, satisfied with the way his eye makeup looks. He tucks the mirror into his tacky, sequence-studded purse. Hongjoong’s supposed to grab a taxi to add to the normalcy cover and to avoid suspicion as well as the risk of them running number plates. Just as he’s about to grab the handle to open the door and step out to flag a taxi, Seonghwa stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Be careful,” he says and it’s more an order than a request, one Hongjoong knows better than to disobey. “I’ll join you in about half an hour. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, look at me and I’ll do something, okay?”

Seonghwa had always been extra cautious with Hongjoong on missions where their timings of entrance were different, but this particular strain of concern isn’t something that Hongjoong is used to. Seonghwa never articulated his worry like this except for rare occasions Hongjoong could count on his fingers on one hand, but he is grateful nonetheless. It doesn’t help that Seonghwa is frowning, face too serious when Hongjoong’s heart is thrumming with affection at the palpable concern.

Hongjoong nods in understanding, trying his best to smother the smile that threatens to stretch his lips. He throws a half-hearted wave at Yunho as he steps out onto the sidewalk.

Hongjoong feels Seonghwa’s gaze on him even after he’s flagged down a taxi and settled in. He steals a glance to the back to see Seonghwa’s eyes resolutely fixed on the car even from a distance. It’s another reminder to himself that his partner cares more than he lets on and it shouldn’t feel as great as it manages to make him feel when it is a reminder and not a revelation, but Hongjoong can’t help it.

His heart flips in his chest and Hongjoong pulls the jacket closer to his torso even if he knows it isn’t the cold that is responsible for the shiver which wracks his frame for a moment.

***

Hongjoong rinses the glass in the sink and wipes it with a cloth, putting it upside down on the polished wooden shelf. The music is loud enough for the bass to make the floor beneath his feet vibrate, the tremor running through his body like electricity every time the beat dropped hard. Hongjoong sees another man slam his hand on the counter, summoning him. It’s been the most amusing thing to him since he donned the flirty bartender persona for the night, how the men kept pretending like they were all gangsters and the women milking their femme fatale sides, living out every club cliche ever. It’s probably the same kind of clientele who were drawn to the club depending on their services so Hongjoong doesn’t spend many of his brain cells to give it serious thought. Grabbing the tequila bottle by its neck, Hongjoong walks towards the swaying customer, making sure to lean into his space a little, the man so drunk his eyes threaten to roll back into his head.

“What should I pay for a night with you, cutie?”

The man says, downing his shot and it’s more of a slurry mess than anything else, Hongjoong really having to fall back on his ears and brain to crack the groggily uttered words. His breath stinks like the aftermath of whiskey, tequila and perpetual bad breath and it’s only experience which barricades Hongjoong from flinching far away from the man. He leans over the counter and boops the man’s nose.

“I don’t sleep with clients on my first day,” Hongjoong says and the man is offended, Hongjoong can tell but before the man can react, another man, taller and hefty comes up behind him, whispering something in the client’s ear. Hongjoong raises an eyebrow and watches the man sober up a little, leaving with a bunch of bills thrown at him.

_ Well, that was quick. _

Hongjoong wants to go after him and crack his neck, but he’s on a job, he reminds himself. He crouches down to collect the bills, shoving it inside the drawer under the counter once he rises to his feet.

“You’re drawing too much attention, honey,” a woman’s voice drawls, husky and slightly whiny. It’s one of the other bartenders who is sharing his shift, a tall woman with brown wavy hair who looked slightly older than him. 

“Am I?” Hongjoong cocks his head in pretend confusion.

“Oh, you’re good!” She praises, leaning into his space without care. Hongjoong wants to scream bloody murder and run away at the proximity. He might be bi, but he’s always been leaning towards the testosterone side of the balance so he’s picky with women and with how she’s so insistent, he can tell it’s either a test or she wants to get laid.

Hongjoong isn’t interested in any of those.

“Oh,” the woman says and it’s uttered so coyly Hongjoong feels like she has figured out what he’s here for. “You like the guys better, interesting,” she hums and leans away from his space.

Hongjoong doesn’t sputter, just nodding shyly, grateful for the wide berth she leaves him.

The woman’s eyes widen as if in realization and she exclaims, “Oh! You’re super cute when you’re shy too. Bet guys like dicking you down hard.”

It’s not the bluntest people have ever been with him, but it’s been a while since he’s been in this scene so he shivers at the crass words, the woman giggling in response.

“They do,” Hongjoong admits, fluttering his eyelashes and feeding her mental image voluntarily.

“There are so many eyes on you now. If you keep up with this, you’ll land yourself in an orgy you can’t handle,” she says, laughing at her own words. She pats his shoulders, it’s really just a drag of her nails over the velvet of his top, and moves away when another customer raises a hand on the other end of the counter.

Hongjoong has been subject to a lot of roving eyes ever since he stepped inside the club today, even the security had eyed him up for a solid minute before he let him in despite knowing him from the day of the interview. His skin has been pricking consistently in disgust at being objectified so blatantly, but it’s a part of the job territory and nothing he isn't used to. He’s been flirting non-stop too, so it must seem like he’s open to any and all advances so, he can’t really blame anyone.

Hongjoong doesn’t know if it’s because he’s gotten way too familiar with Seonghwa’s stares or something else, but he can tell the exact position Seonghwa is in even without looking. There are numerous pairs of gazes fixed on him, but Hongjoong can pick out Seonghwa’s stare in his sleep. Hongjoong has made eye contact twice or thrice with him tonight, Seonghwa's gaze intense and focussed on him before he flicked it away to avoid complications stemming from someone else noticing it. 

The night drags on without many issues and the one time someone forcefully tugs Hongjoong forward by his collar to plant one on his lips, nearly lifting him off his feet, the other guy working on his shift calls up the security. Keeping that aside, Hongjoong thinks it’s a good first day. Perhaps Hongjoong’s standards are too low, but it is what it is.

Hongjoong glances up from the whiskey bottle to see Seonghwa walk to the counter as the crowd starts clearing. The digital clock on the counter reads 4:20. The manager had informed them that they close at five so Hongjoong surmises that Seonghwa is probably planning on leaving without raising suspicion.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” Seonghwa says, dragging the bar stool and sitting down, the legs of the stool scraping on the floor.

Hongjoong nods and turns away to grab some ice. He doesn’t pay much attention to Seonghwa as he’s making the drink, but he can feel Seonghwa’s imploring gaze fixated on him.

Hongjoong catches the manager scoping out the area of the counter and his initial response is to panic internally. Hongjoong had been flirting all night because, during the interview, the man had informed him that his clients were handsy and that their establishment did work a little differently than others. Hongjoong had agreed to the arrangement, well aware of what that meant. 

Tonight, he has no intentions to blow any of their covers by acting out of character. So, when he sees the manager walk in the direction of the counter, he puts the drink Seonghwa asked for on the counter and poses seductively with his elbow, silently grateful that he’d wiped the counter mere minutes ago meaning that it isn’t sticky with liquor. He makes sure to curve his back in a way he knows makes him look hot. Seonghwa who had been slightly confused immediately catches on to what’s happening.

“What’s got you staying here the entire night, handsome?”

Hongjoong cringes mentally at his poor choice of words, but donning his cheapest flirty face could get him a long way on this job so he steels his nerves and commits to his game face with everything he has.

Seonghwa sips the whiskey and leans a bit closer, flicking his gaze between Hongjoong’s eyes before he trails it down to Hongjoong’s mouth.

“Heartbreak, maybe,” Seonghwa says and backs away from how close he’d gotten to Hongjoong’s face by merely leaning in, his height playing to his advantage.

Hongjoong blinks before he gathers himself. The manager is watching the exchange like the voyeur Hongjoong had a feeling he was. Hongjoong is not judging, but it isn’t his kink of choice and he can feel the eyebrow raise, but he reins it in before his face can do it.

Seonghwa is still staring at him, but his expression is slightly guarded now as if he’s just revealed a secret and is waiting for Hongjoong’s response.

“Who would dare to break the heart of someone with a face like yours?” Hongjoong asks, voice sultry, lashes fluttering slowly, the lights behind Seonghwa flashing purples and blues, tinting his black hair from the back.

“_ I’m _breaking someone’s heart,” Seonghwa says and takes another sip of his whiskey, the movement of the liquid flowing down his throat visible. He continues, “and that, in turn, is breaking my heart.”

Uncertainty and tension crawl in the space between them because Hongjoong is concerned if Seonghwa’s playing a part or if he’s being honest. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to infer if it’s the second so he blinks at Seonghwa, letting his curious smile wane.

Seonghwa keeps staring though, like he needs Hongjoong to reply. 

Hongjoong doesn’t know how because Seonghwa always phrased things so ambiguously. Hongjoong knows he isn’t dumb, but he is also not smart enough to sit down and put the pieces Seonghwa throws to him. He’s not someone who sees the bigger picture. He just derives happiness when Seonghwa gets particularly generous and opens up to him in random spurts. Like a pirate who, despite his love for the vast ocean, is attached to that one particular island, going back to it over and over again just to collect mementoes as reminders, he collects the pieces Seonghwa gives him and carefully puts them in his treasure chest of trinkets and keeps them safe, never to be taken out or gathered as a message again. Hongjoong would never treat Seonghwa like a puzzle because as intricate as Seonghwa was, he was a person and people weren’t comparable to tiny blocks which had a predictable outcome. 

Hongjoong sees the manager turn away and he leans back, twisting his body to the side to get momentary relief for the cramp that has lodged itself there from him constantly leaning over the counter.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”

Seonghwa looks… _ disappointed _, but Hongjoong doesn’t have time to read more into it because Seonghwa slaps a hundred on the counter and shoves his wallet inside his jacket. He walks away with a two-fingered salute and a promise to return the night after.

“The empty ones are always so desperate in acting chic and leaving people hanging, aren’t they?,” the bartender who’d called the guards on the unruly customer a bit ago asks. It’s a rhetorical question so Hongjoong just nods and puts his flirty smile on, pretending like he has better places to be.

_ He doesn’t. _

Hongjoong is about to close up, figuring that their agent won’t come in tonight when he feels the woman who had flirted with him before slinks into his space. Hongjoong is about to politely ask her to fuck off when she puts a finger to her lips in a gesture for him to stay quiet.

“Quick,” she mouths, flicking her eyes in the direction of the bathroom.

Hongjoong is glad his body catches up before his mind does because he immediately finds his feet carrying him to where the bathrooms are. 

The lack of people is what Hongjoong notices first. He pretends to leisurely walk, scoping the area out for cameras when a hand draws him into a cubicle.

The second thing he notices is that the man has a scar running ear to ear. Even his nose bridge has the scar, a thin but deep line where the skin is a lighter tone, like someone really worked to slice through his face in a straight line like they were in a freaking geometry class.

It’s then that he remembers that Eden hadn’t mentioned a scar.

Hongjoong lets his gaze do a once-over of the man and grabs him by his arm, twisting him around. He shoves him against the wall in one quick, practiced move. 

“Code?” Hongjoong surprises himself by how cold he manages to sound.

The man doesn’t tense or fight his grip even if it’s a vulnerable position. Hongjoong is pretty certain he’s the agent but pretty certain wasn’t enough.

“S9458KQ02,” he replies, voice monotone.

Hongjoong isn’t satisfied so he tightens his grip and asks, “HQ base code.”

“UP9841.”

“Protocol 7,” Hongjoong grits.

“Kill or be killed.”

“Mission code.”

“SM9453UC.”

“HQ quick unlock.”

“Listen rookie, you might as well shoot me if you want me to say that out loud.”

Hongjoong smiles to himself and lets him go, patting down his shirt in a gesture of apology.

“Been tensed or something, kid? Mission gone wrong?” The agent inquires, frowning.

Hongjoong shakes his head, not prepared to have a heart-to-heart with an undercover agent in the first five minutes of their meeting. He’s also slightly shaken by how the man had sensed his caution as a result of stress. He leans down, taking his boot off to retrieve the box from its heel. The agent hums and grabs the box, opening it to check the contents. Hongjoong closes the toilet lid and hikes his leg up to tie the shoelace.

“Thank you,” the man says, running a hand through his dark brown hair.

Hongjoong waves a hand and gives the man a salute, the gesture not as grand as he would have liked it to be due to the limited space. He finds himself meaning it though because he is aware that staying undercover for four years must have been hard. He also had enough knowledge about injuries to gather that the scar wasn’t the result of an aggressive kitchen fight.

The man chortles and gives a lazy wave before he steps out with a knowing smile.

Hongjoong leaves the cubicle a minute later, wanting to wash his face but deciding not to because none of the makeup he had on was waterproof except the mascara. 

It’s when he’s staring at the mirror that he realizes that he hadn’t seen Seonghwa leave. He’d been too caught up in the moment and somehow _ forgotten _ to check on Seonghwa.

As much as Seonghwa was there for his aid, they were partners so it meant that this was a mutually beneficial agreement and Hongjoong had gone ahead and messed that up.

Hongjoong hurries back to the main room, as quick as he can manage without drawing too much attention. The others are already cleaning up, but Hongjoong can tell that it’s going to take at least an hour to finish everything. The woman from before catches his gaze as he picks up the towel with a dejected look.

“Darlings, it’s the rookie’s first night here. Maybe we should celebrate by letting him off early today. Are you all on board with that?” The woman announces and she is met with a chorus of cheers concurring the suggestion from the four others who manned the bar with him tonight.

Hongjoong merely smiles and thanks the others, bowing to them making the group of bartenders coo, but his mind is a million miles away already.

The security guard’s eyes are bloodshot, obviously sleep-deprived as he struts to the entrance. It’s perhaps that which makes the man let him go after a single pat-down of his body. He almost wants to remind the thugs that he had just walked out of an entrance with metal detector capability and that this patting him down thing is just plain overkill, but he doesn't see any point in wasting his energy to say it when he'll be gone in a week anyway. Hongjoong twists the jacket further and looks up at the guard when the man's stare feels like it's burning a hole on his face. It's then that he notices the drops of dried blood on the burly man’s neck and shirt, like blood had splattered and he was in close proximity to it. Hongjoong bites his bottom lip, worrying it with his teeth, thoughts racing with the worst possibilities.

It feels a little like the atmosphere is closing in on him, trapping him in the cold. Hongjoong’s alibi to the manager was that he’ll walk home because Eden had told him that they wouldn’t bother to check where he lived. But he can’t just walk to the block where Yunho and Seonghwa are supposed to wait for him when he hadn’t seen Seonghwa leave.

_ He hadn’t seen Seonghwa leave. _

And the guard had blood on his shirt._ What if... _

Hongjoong feels like throwing up at the question he doesn't even let his head formulate, but he smothers the urge and takes a detour in the opposite direction to the alley behind the club. There’s a huge trash can there, sitting inconspicuously in the corner. Hongjoong knows he’s being paranoid, but he’d seen too many people dying on this job that he can’t help but lift the lid to look inside, his phone’s flashlight illuminating the grimy insides of the trashcan.

There are a few black plastic bags at the bottom of it, but other than that, it’s empty. It doesn’t even stink like he’d expected it to.

Hongjoong lets out a sigh of relief and spins on his heel, noticing that he’d been standing in a puddle of something wet. He directs the flashlight down to see that he was standing on…

_ Blood. _

Hongjoong feels his insides freeze up and he follows the puddle to a trail that says that whoever had bled out had been dragged to the road on the rough concrete. The trail disappears on the edge of the alley, right where concrete ends and asphalt begins. Hongjoong has watched this happen way too many times to not easily grasp that a vehicle, maybe a car, had been involved and that someone had been hurt, badly.

Hongjoong doesn’t spend much time thinking after it. He speed-walks out of the alley and past the guards stationed outside the club and moves like that till he rounds a corner and then…

_ Then, he runs. _

Hongjoong feels the cold wind threaten to make his teeth shiver, piercing through his skin, his denim jacket still bunched up in his hand. He can’t stop, not when he can’t even call Seonghwa because the other had taken a burner phone today and Hongjoong doesn’t know its number. Hongjoong feels his lungs protest against the frosty bite of the air, but he doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t even care that anyone could easily stop him and be suspicious of his flightiness because until he saw Seonghwa, he couldn’t possibly care about anything, not the world, not the few people on the street who are out on early morning walks or the people who are accomplices to crime. 

Hongjoong would let the world burn, in fact, he’d set it on fire himself if something happened to Seonghwa.

It’s barely a twenty-minute walk and Hongjoong has been running so he doesn’t know how long it’s been when he sees their car parked on the sidewalk. Hongjoong feels his heart shrivel and twist into a tornado at the lack of movement. His hair flings to the back as he quickens his pace, desperation kicking in with might. Hongjoong barely sees the door on the passenger side open and then…

Seonghwa steps out.

_ Alive, _Hongjoong’s mind muses, content.

Seonghwa sprints to him, Hongjoong slowing his pace to avoid a collision, but he miscalculates and smacks into Seonghwa’s chest with a hard _ oof _escaping his mouth. Seonghwa straightens him, patting down his arms with concern etched all over his face.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did something happen, Hongjoong?”

Hongjoong shakes his head, leaning down and resting his hands on his knees, letting the jacket fall to the sidewalk, catching his breath. He hears the other door open, Yunho stepping out, he assumes, but the younger’s footsteps halt a good distance away.

Hongjoong feels tears blur his vision and he straightens up, shaking his head and running a hand over his face to will the waterworks away.

Seonghwa steps forward, a hand hovering in the air as if to touch or comfort, Hongjoong doesn’t know.

“Hongjoong, talk to me. Is something wrong? Was your cover blown? Did someone hurt you?”

Seonghwa’s voice gets desperate as he talks, the volume rising like he’s on the verge of losing it. Hongjoong has _ never _ seen him get like this and if he hadn’t been scared for Seonghwa’s life mere moments ago, perhaps he would have tried to read more into it.

Hongjoong shakes his head again, both his palms over his face to cover the tears which begin to overflow. Hongjoong had nearly lost Seonghwa days ago and the universe had decided, apparently, that it was a great plan to quickly send another crisis his way in the form of blood-curdling paranoia. 

What kind of a villain was he in his previous life to deserve this kind of torture?

Hongjoong feels so pathetic, having a breakdown in the middle of a street at dawn with Seonghwa right in front of him when he’d never wanted to do it anywhere else but behind his bedroom door in the dark of the night.

Seonghwa shakes him with his hands clutching his biceps. Hongjoong feels the touch right down to his bones, Seonghwa’s cold fingers bruisingly tight on his skin.

“Talk to me, Hongjoong,” he says, eyes set on Hongjoong.

Who was Hongjoong to deny Seonghwa _ anything _?

Seonghwa’s breath shudders as Hongjoong lifts his palms away from his face. Hongjoong laughs in his face and he knows he looks maniacal, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I didn’t see you leave and I went looking for you in the alley because the guard had blood on his shirt. There was so…” Hongjoong chokes on his breath and Seonghwa frowns harder, “there was _ so _ much blood, Seonghwa. I thought they…” _ killed you _ ,”I thought you...,” _ died _.

Seonghwa relaxes his grip on him and trails his right hand down to Hongjoong’s left wrist, grabbing it gently but firm, like he knows Hongjoong needs to be held now, to feel something that will ground him. He crouches down, his hand still gripping Hongjoong’s and picks up the jacket from the ground.

The ride home is a blur to Hongjoong. Hongjoong remembers Yunho catching concerned looks at him through the rearview mirror and Seonghwa keeping his hand loosely circling his wrist, foregoing sitting in the passenger seat in favour of joining Hongjoong on the back seat, but other than that, everything else is wiped completely from his mind like it didn’t register in the first place.

“Drive home. Just make sure to pick us up tomorrow,” Seonghwa says, looking at Yunho as they get out of the car at the entrance of their apartment complex. Hongjoong merely stares at the ground, exhausted and groggy. He hears the familiar sound of the engine fade in the distance as Yunho drives away, but he feels like he’s floating, empty and exhausted.

Seonghwa’s grip tightens around his wrist and Hongjoong follows as he quite literally _ feels _ himself being tugged forward, Seonghwa’s pace dizzyingly fast.

Hongjoong is prepared to get cursed out to all heavens when they finally reach the apartment, but Seonghwa lets his wrist go and tilts his head to make eye contact. Hongjoong resolutely stares at his chest, evading his eyes.

Seonghwa sighs, his breath drifting to Hongjoong due to how close they are.

“I’m okay. I’m here. I know I haven’t done anything to deserve how caring you are, but I mean it when I say I’m here, Hongjoong. I can’t promise if I’ll always be here because our world is fucking unstable like that, but rest assured for now, because for now, I’m fine and I’m right here.”

Hongjoong nods and lets himself collapse forward. He doesn’t hug Seonghwa, but he does feel Seonghwa’s arms wrapping around him. It’s the first time Seonghwa has attempted to comfort him like this so Hongjoong just stands there and lets himself accept it.

Hongjoong doesn’t cry himself to sleep, but he does wake up an hour after he’s gone to sleep due to vivid images of blood and Seonghwa plaguing his dreamscape.

_ This _, Hongjoong can deal with.

It is just a dream, a nightmare that was a product of his mind, nothing else.

_ Not real _, he whispers to himself, slipping back under.

***

The rest of the week goes by without heart-shattering breakdowns and revelations, but Hongjoong can feel Seonghwa walking on eggshells around him and it makes him feel so angry, his hands threatening physical harm.

Hongjoong can count on his fingers the number of times he’s gotten angry at Seonghwa, but this time he doesn’t filter himself.

“I watched you standing on that roof, ready to die, Seonghwa. I didn’t fucking treat you like glass after that, did I? So stop fucking treating me like I’m made of glass because I got scared for your life and had a breakdown, okay?” Hongjoong spits, on Wednesday night after catching Seonghwa stare at him through the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time. He’d saved the yelling for when they got home though.

“I just… Having a breakdown doesn’t mean I’m weak and can’t defend myself. Just treat me like you always do,” Hongjoong says, voice losing force and turning gentle halfway through when Seonghwa doesn’t respond.

“Treat you like I always do? Like you’re worth nothing?” Seonghwa asks and he sounds so angry Hongjoong feels his hackles rise again without prompting.

“Yes!” He screams. Seonghwa looks like Hongjoong has just slapped him across his face. Hongjoong continues, following it up with, “Because I’m used to that. I’m not used to,” _ you caring like this _ , “ _ this _.”

Seonghwa sighs, a wry chuckle echoing in the air around them.

“I know, Hongjoong. You don’t have to remind me like this. It..”

Seonghwa shakes his head as if it isn’t worth explaining to Hongjoong and walks away, door slamming shut behind him.

It’s the first time Seonghwa has shut him out like this, all the times before had been because of their unspoken agreement coming from understanding and hesitation, but this was different. Seonghwa had walked away from a conversation _ because _ of his filterless mouth and Hongjoong wants to smack himself for letting his emotions get the best of him.

Following Seonghwa and begging him is an option that looks immensely attractive to him, but he figures that some hours away will help.

***

It’s one of the most foolish assumptions Hongjoong has ever made in the two and a half decades of his life on this cursed planet. Seonghwa stays in his room the whole day and comes out only when it’s time for them to leave for the mission. He barely makes eye contact with Hongjoong when they reach for the coffee machine together, Hongjoong taking the cue and retreating with his proverbial tail tucked between his legs.

It’s just an odd coincidence that tonight also happens to be the last day of the mission. 

_ Could things get any worse? _

Hongjoong wants to apologize to Seonghwa for being so rude and blunt, but his throat closes up on him every time he tries. Hongjoong isn’t a blabbermouth and as much as his time with Seonghwa has pushed him to try to get Seonghwa comfortable with him in his space, at the very core, Hongjoong isn’t that different from how Seonghwa is. Reaching out to someone is still unnerving, but he is spared the burden when strangely enough, Seonghwa catches him by his wrist, making the first move, an olive branch extended to him as he’s about to leave the car.

“I have your back, no matter what,” Seonghwa says and his eyes widen like he’d just spit out what he hadn’t intended.

“I know,” Hongjoong replies, hoping that Seonghwa knows he admires the words for what they are and that Seonghwa reads his words beyond the literal sense they convey in turn. He feels the caked makeup obstructing his skin as his lips stretch to a small smile. 

Yunho pretend-gags in the back and Hongjoong laughs out, waving at Seonghwa with a meaningful look thrown at him.

It’s an apology, Seonghwa responding with a small smile of his own, an acknowledgement, his sharp features suddenly taking on a softer look. It's the slightest shift on his usually stoic face, but Hongjoong can tell.

It’s a damning lane to walk down, but Hongjoong supposes that since he’s already soaked, he might as well commit himself to a dance in the rain.

***

Hongjoong fixes his gaze on the dance floor, spotting the target easily. The man doesn't look his age, but from the brief look he'd taken at the profile, Hongjoong knows for a fact that he's definitely way older than Hongjoong prefers his men. He hums along to the song playing in the background, a slow R&B track with heavy beats as he pours coke for the bored freshman in front of him, scoping the area as he does it. The target is surrounded by three casually dressed men, all of whom Hongjoong deduces as being trained in multiple martial arts, their postures near-perfect to not have undergone vigorous training regimens. It's easy, Hongjoong barely takes ten seconds, to spot another four men standing scattered away from the target but still not far enough to make the likelihood of running forward to shield the man an impossibility.

Hongjoong lets gaze rest on the target as the man struts in the direction of the lounge rooms of the club, but before he does, he sweeps his gaze across the room. Hongjoong makes sure to stretch like a cat, his crop top hiking up even further beyond his exposed belly button and he licks his lips, knowing how obscene the picture he’s creating is going to end up looking to the person watching. The man watches, his gaze skimming over every inch of Hongjoong visible over the counter. He whispers something to the manager and Hongjoong gives him his best bedroom eyes when the man looks at him again. The man smirks and walks away, but Hongjoong can see how affected he is by the awkward shuffle he does to the stairs.

Hongjoong is very familiar with this particular way of walking.

The target was _ hard _ from just some eye-fucking.

Suddenly, it feels like child's play to Hongjoong, but he knows better than to be cocky in missions so he reins it in. 

Seonghwa isn't here tonight so he doesn't have the constant comfort of a set of piercing eyes fixed on him, but he thinks that it's better too because Hongjoong seducing someone was not something he was ready for Seonghwa to see. If it wasn't an option he would have rolled with the punches, but since he did have a choice, he's glad this is the way it's going to go down. 

The initial plan was for Seonghwa to enter through the vents, but a closer look at the vents had clued them to the fact that the dimensions of the space were too small, not enough room for someone to crawl through. So, Yunho and Seonghwa were going to sign in for a room for the night and Seonghwa was going to sneak into the room the target usually reserved. It helped that Yunho was with them because that way, there wasn't the risk of someone seeing the footage before they could delete it or having to spend time finding the control room and putting the feed on loop.

Hongjoong zones out, working on autopilot for a few minutes, only coming to reality when the woman, Soyeon he'd learned a couple of days ago, taps him on the shoulder. Hongjoong follows her gaze to the customer with his hands in the air, a sign for a drink. 

Hongjoong serves the clients, flicking his gaze to the stairs every now and then to see if the target is coming anytime soon.

It's around an hour later, the music vibrating inside his chest with its volume when the target comes down. Hongjoong slinks back to the side of the counter he'd been serving when the man last saw him and waits with his hands drying a martini glass.

"You're new here," the man says, his voice deep but clear as he sits down on the stool.

"Yeah, is that a problem?" Hongjoong asks, blinking slowly in that way he knows drives men crazy and sets the whiskey bottle on the counter.

"It isn't," he says, a hungry smile on his face Hongjoong feels like the man just might strip him naked and have him there on the counter. A wave of revulsion hits and he feels like he wants to throw up.

"So what can I get you, handsome?" Hongjoong inquires, a smirk on his face, swallowing the distaste.

"Are you on the menu?" 

Hongjoong almost does throw up at that.

"You'll know after you order a drink."

There's an amused smile on the man's face that Hongjoong knows is from the satisfaction stemming from knowing his advances are appreciated and are being received well.

_ You're walking to your death _, Hongjoong thinks, but there's not a hint of remorse as his head processes the thought. Hongjoong has seen the files and with the kind of money and power at the man's disposal, no court would find the target guilty of anything if anyone picked the way of the law.

A knife to the heart from a shadow is the only way to put an end to the target's nefarious reign and Hongjoong understands that it’s his duty to carry it out.

The man orders a scotch and soda, it’s only one of many of the night and sips it, keeping up with Hongjoong's flirting with lines of his own. The way he has his guard down, Hongjoong knows the man has had way too many sexual encounters which ended satisfyingly here.

So much power and wealth, but it's lust which will cause him his inevitable end.

It's barely an hour later when Hongjoong finds himself being shoved on the backseat of a sedan, the man hovering him. Hongjoong sits up, groaning at the pain from his head whacking against the window of the car. The man sends a small apology his way before he starts licking and kissing down Hongjoong's neck, aggressively biting at the smooth skin. 

Hongjoong can feel the man get hard from the ministrations so he puts his hand on the man's chest and swings his legs so that he's seated on the man's lap, the other moaning at the contact.

The drive to the hotel consists of them just making out and groping each other, the target's hands leaving bruises Hongjoong knows he'll feel for days and the thought isn’t pleasing at all, but he rolls with it. Hongjoong can tell that the man is aggressive, rough like the many men around who didn’t care about their partner’s pleasure and if the night doesn't end the way they planned, Hongjoong knows he’ll have to prepare a warm bath when he gets home and sleep for days. 

Hongjoong's a little impressed at the way the man can hold his drinks because he doesn't even sway despite all the alcohol he'd consumed through the night. The guards are still following them, but Hongjoong knows where they'll all end up tonight. The receptionist smiles warmly at the man when they step inside the air-conditioned lobby of the hotel. Hongjoong makes sure to keep his head turned away so that when the inevitable enquiry begins, the only thing they’d remember would be his red hair.

The man, despite the presence of the guards, doesn't keep his hands to himself even when they step into the elevator. Hongjoong sighs internally, but lets the man have his way, pliantly taking it one moment and attempting to get control the other in a tug for power that easily gets the man all riled up, even more so than he is already.

The door slams shut behind Hongjoong and he immediately feels himself being shoved against the wooden barrier, his back protesting weakly at the shock of pain rippling through it at the harsh contact with the door. Hongjoong hisses into the kiss as their teeth clack together, his tongue detecting iron and a prick of pain.

"You think you can look at me like that all night and not get fucked to death tonight?" The man grits against his lips, his erection pressing against Hongjoong's stomach. His skin curls in disgust, but he doesn't let himself flinch away. 

"Well then, what the fuck are you waiting for?" Hongjoong goads, raising an eyebrow in challenge in a manner that is sure to infuriate the other.

Hongjoong sees the bathroom door slip open slowly and he pulls the man into a hard kiss, his teeth sinking into Hongjoong's lips in revenge as Seonghwa sneaks up, walking with deadly silent steps towards them. Hongjoong doesn't close his eyes, letting his tongue be sucked on by the other man, staying as disconnected from the kiss as he can.

A flash of movement happens, and Hongjoong pulls away from the kiss as Seonghwa grabs the man with his hand around his throat, his palm pressed firmly against the man's mouth.

The man's eyes widen in shock and terror, realization arriving a little too late as Seonghwa drags him away from Hongjoong with his grip still intact.

"Not all high and mighty now, are you?" Hongjoong asks, not expecting an answer, wiping his mouth in disgust with the back of his hand. Seonghwa's eyes follow the motion and his forearm presses threateningly, painfully against the other's larynx.

"You okay?" Seonghwa asks, like he isn't suffocating a man with both his hands as he utters it.

Hongjoong nods.

Seonghwa juts his chin towards the cupboard in the corner of the room and Hongjoong walks towards it, grabbing the knife they'd planned to plant there.

For all the preparation that went to it, the hours spent hunched over their table, the finale isn't that grand or of much fanfare.

The man groans, Seonghwa's grip smothering his screams as the sharp piece of metal rips through the skin of his chest and then his heart, bone shattering under Hongjoong's unrelenting grip on the knife, blood seeping out in quick rivulets. 

There's a brief pause and when wheezing breaths start escaping the man, his feet halting in his struggles, Hongjoong sees Seonghwa twist the man's head to the side, the sound of bone cracking audible in the room.

The man's body slumps to the ground, lifeless.

"Go change," Seonghwa says, calm.

Hongjoong looks down at his bloody hands, but doesn't feel anything in particular, too used to the crimson covering his skin by now.

They would have used a gun, but even with a silencer, they didn't want to risk the guards storming in from outside.

Hongjoong washes his hands with some hand wash and rinses his mouth with the mouthwash, draining away the repulsive taste of saliva and whiskey, leaving just the overpowering flavor of mint behind.

Seonghwa is sitting on the bed when he steps out and he hands him his gun, a quick look of acknowledgement exchanged between them. 

Hongjoong opens the door, the guard who was stationed right outside it flinching at the sudden noise and the unexpectedly quick entrance.

The man is about to say something, but Hongjoong opens the door wider and walks out, grabbing him by his face and snapping his neck in one go. Seonghwa rounds him and kicks the other guard on the chest, sending him to the ground before he directs the gun at his chest, shooting without much thought. One of the five guards left grabs his phone and Hongjoong doesn't even let him press his passcode, shooting successively in an arch, all five dropping to the ground ungracefully.

Seonghwa stares at the bodies, kneeling next to them to press his fingers against their necks and confirm that they're dead. The guard who had been clutching his phone receives another bullet courtesy of Seonghwa, alive even after Hongjoong's attack. 

Hongjoong's ears tune in to the sound of vibration and Seonghwa shoves his hands inside his pocket to grab his phone.

"Yeah, we're done. We're leaving now. Did you check out?"

It's Yunho, Hongjoong figures.

Seonghwa hums once again before he hangs up.

They don't bother dragging the bodies into the room, nor do they close the door to the room.

_ Make a statement _, Eden had said, barely concealed anger underlining his usually pleasant tone.

Hongjoong turns back to the macabre scene in the hallway and thinks that this was a satisfying statement indeed. Seonghwa seems to have arrived at that conclusion too because he nods at Hongjoong like he's saying _ well done _.

They don't take the elevator down, using the safety escape vault to get to the parking lot, Seonghwa's bag landing with a heavy thud first as they throw it down the vault.

Another day, another win, Hongjoong thinks, letting his eyes close, feeling slightly cathartic after the exhausting week. He wants to go home and sink himself in warm water to wash away the man's disgusting touch, feeling dirty, body and mind having trouble coming to terms at suddenly having demanded physical intimacy of himself. He barely registers Seonghwa getting in to the backseat, his warmth settling in against Hongjoong's side as he drowns himself in the darkness behind his eyelids. 

***

Eden texts the picture of a news report a day later, a simple ‘well done’ accompanying it. Hongjoong doesn’t reply, but he does know that the job probably had more to it than what Eden told them and if the senior agent’s words of praise are anything to go by, there had been something large at stake.

When two days later, a human trafficking gang is caught, Hongjoong doesn’t have to call the senior agent to confirm his suspicions.

Hongjoong picks at the chow mein with his chopsticks after he sets his phone down, feeling riled up and hungry, but not enough to indulge in food. It’s nearly midnight, but Hongjoong feels wide awake, not even the slightest form of grogginess in sight. It’s incentive enough for him to switch on the TV. Maybe if he focuses on something, his brain would stop thinking and actually let him fall asleep.

Hongjoong ends up looking for the movie he’d watched with Wooyoung and San, the one with the dragon and the boy. He makes a note to self to let them know when they return from the mission that he’d gone back and watched it again, knowing it’ll make them happy.

Hongjoong doesn’t think anyone pegs him as a guy who enjoys animation movies, especially considering his domain of work, but he’s always been open to a lot of things so it isn’t a huge shock when he finds himself enjoying the movie even without Wooyoung’s loud noises or San’s running commentary.

He’s so engrossed in the movie that he doesn’t notice Seonghwa’s presence until he’s seated next to him. It’s only years of training which kills the flinch before his body reacts.

Seonghwa has never watched a movie with him, insisting on staying cooped up in his room and ignoring all his invitations with a pointed look. It is one of the two things Hongjoong has always noticed Seonghwa refuse to do with him, the other being how Seonghwa avoided grocery shopping together like the plague. Despite Hongjoong struggling to come to terms with how two people could quite literally live together, but not share mundane things like that, Hongjoong hasn’t actually let himself reach a point where he complained.

Hongjoong risks a glance at Seonghwa’s face, his usually blank expression replaced with an intense frown, his hands balled into fists on either side of him. He’s tense, body coiled tight like he’s in pain, but his eyes are distant as if lost in a memory of something that happened ages ago.

Hongjoong grabs the remote and pauses the movie.

“Seonghwa, are you okay?”

Seonghwa nods slowly and Hongjoong huffs at the blatant lie, but instead of justifying it, Seonghwa picks up the remote and resumes the movie.

It’s like a silent plea for Hongjoong to ignore him and let him be.

Hongjoong lets out a resigned sigh and leans back against the couch, keeping his thoughts on a short leash so that they won’t meander to his partner.

A tiny part of him sees right through Seonghwa though, because it doesn’t take an IQ of 160 to know when someone needed to _ not _ be alone, to not feel so invisible, begrudgingly clawing at the sand settling on their skin from the potent regret and guilt that would creep in when they least expect it.

As the credits roll about an hour later, Seonghwa shifts on the couch, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and lighter from the pocket of his sweatpants. He gets up, shuffling towards the balcony. Hongjoong smothers the urge to ask if he can join. He rises to his feet, ready to switch the television off and turn in for the night when Seonghwa pauses at the threshold to the balcony.

“Fancy a smoke?” Seonghwa asks. His face is forcefully relaxed like he’s really giving it his all to seem indifferent.

Hongjoong shrugs despite seeing right through the act and follows Seonghwa to the balcony. He's not been happy per se the whole night, but the offer definitely does make him feel lighter, tendrils of happiness beginning to wrap around him. It also helped that whatever dimension Seonghwa was stuck in, he's free from it, looking significantly calmer like he's sorted things out for now.

The air is colder on the balcony when compared to the last time they were here together. There's the warm feeling of nostalgia that Hongjoong attempts to ignore, but it isn't very plausible because Seonghwa's body heat is soaking through Hongjoong's t-shirt and it makes him feel overwhelmed with a feeling he doesn't want to name. Seonghwa though, looks completely unbothered at how they are pressed against each other. 

A few months ago, this proximity had seemed like a fever dream to Hongjoong, but at the moment, as much as they are a tragedy relying on conflict and reticence, Hongjoong finds actual, tangible comfort in the physical closeness. He's not been blind to the increasing intimacy between them, albeit its slow pace.

“Would you be up for it tonight?” Seonghwa asks, face passive and expressionless like he’s talking about buying milk or ordering a pizza.

Hongjoong chokes on his spit, but he gathers himself so that he can confirm if Seonghwa is on the same page as him.

“Are you talking about the mission thing?” Hongjoong asks, his voice losing volume at the end.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Seonghwa huffs, sounding borderline playful and Hongjoong is certain he’s never heard this particular sound from the other’s mouth. 

“Yes,” Hongjoong replies, slightly irritated at being teased but also recovering from the biggest whiplash he’s received in a while. “I thought it was a bad night,” Hongjoong says carefully like he’s treading on a pothole-infested road.

Talking to Seonghwa was always like that, like holding your heart in your hand while wading through the ever-present fear and possibility of plunging headfirst into the crack in the ground. So, he’s careful, always. 

And he _never_ slipped up when it wasn’t warranted.

“It was,” Seonghwa replies, spinning the cigarette on his fingers.

“Then wouldn’t this be bad timing?” Hongjoong asks, genuinely curious.

“I said it _was_,” he stresses the word, “a bad night. It isn’t bad now.” 

Seonghwa’s voice is so close to dropping to a whisper, but Hongjoong hears him clearly. He doesn’t know if it’s the movie which improved his mood or if his mind had decided to throw him a bone, whatever it is, Hongjoong is eternally grateful to it for making Seonghwa’s night better.

“Well, then I guess tonight’s fine,” Hongjoong says, nervous about the whole ordeal that’s going to happen, letting himself soak up every ounce of positivity in the air so that he can stay out of his head tonight.

Hongjoong isn’t too worried though because contrary to how his heart skipped a beat every time Seonghwa so much as looked at him and his knowledge about the implications of that, his head is more concerned about their first moment of sexual intimacy being viewed by an audience for a mission. So, this night is the best case scenario where he can let them have this for themselves and clinically go through the actions on the mission without care when and where it would be demanded of them. 

The mission test with Yang had been an eye-opener in that regard.

Seonghwa agreeing to this meant that he wanted it too. It’s the logic of some fantasizing brain cell of his, but Hongjoong will take every crumb he gets.

Seonghwa nods. His long fingers wrap around the cigarette and he puts the joint between his lips, pursing them a little. His hands come up to flick the lighter on, a small flame illuminating Seonghwa's features in yellowish-orange light.

It's an image that ignites a fire that coils deep in his gut, but Hongjoong has mastered control so he stays quiet, letting his breath fog up as he exhales slowly. The bridge of his nose stings when he inhales deeply the next moment, the cold air thick as it enters his nostrils.

Seonghwa takes a puff of the cigarette, two fingers touching his lips. He pulls the cigarette away and lets the smoke hang in the air in front of him. Hongjoong can feel his sinuses protesting, but he leans back against the closed window and watches Seonghwa smoke anyway.

Hongjoong knows he should stop Seonghwa from smoking so much, but he doesn't indulge very often in the cancer stick that Hongjoong thinks it's not too dangerous to let him go on for a bit more if that helped calm him down a little more and relax. 

It's two cigarettes later when Seonghwa offers one to him. It isn't handed to him like Hongjoong had expected it to be when Seonghwa had asked if he wanted to join him. 

Instead, Seonghwa pulls the fourth cigarette out and looks at him, gaze guarded and asks, "How do you want this?"

Hongjoong doesn't know if he's prepared for a repeat of the night that was selectively forgotten on an unstated accord between them, if his heart can take it again if it didn't mean anything.

Secretly though, he knows he'll crumble at the slightest sign of interest from Seonghwa. He'll be satisfied with the bare minimum. He's not a role model in self-esteem and he's low-maintenance so it's pretty much like he's prime real estate in that regard. Seonghwa's too nice to take advantage though.

Hongjoong grabs the pack of cigarettes, Seonghwa relaxing his grip on them without question. He carefully lights the cigarette and takes a sharp puff, too quick and promptly chokes and sputters at the bitter taste that hits the back of his throat. His eyes water and Hongjoong feels Seonghwa's hands touch his skin as he grabs the cigarette from his hand.

Seonghwa laughs and it's so quiet, but Hongjoong feels a smile pull at the corners of his lips even as his throat and nose feels irritated. He turns to face Seonghwa. "Did you just…" he pauses, "laugh?"

Seonghwa freezes and Hongjoong mentally facepalms. He just _ had _ to call him out, didn't he?

He is regretting every single one of his life decisions when Seonghwa relaxes again, face pulling into an easy smile. It's easy to forget that the man in front of him is largely emotionless more than half the time when he smiles like that, like he's not been corrupted by the world, like he hadn't been ripped of the things he lamented every day like he's living out a punishment than breathing to live his life for the sake of it.

"I do laugh, you know?" Seonghwa says and there's an air of incredulity in it like he can't quite believe Hongjoong has just pointed this out. Hongjoong shivers from the cold and some unnamed feeling that has blended with the air.

"Want to try again?" Seonghwa asks, an eyebrow raised.

"No thanks," Hongjoong says, managing to sound huffy but polite. He's not prepared to make a fool out of himself again. He briefly wonders if the image of him choking on smoke would get Seonghwa to laugh again.

Seonghwa takes a deep puff of smoke and exhales. Hongjoong feels the other's gaze over his face like ivy creeping up a tower, slow and dangerous. 

"Shotgun?" Seonghwa asks, voice a little shaky and rough.

Hongjoong's heart rises to his throat as he keeps himself from reacting too much to the offer.

"Sure," Hongjoong accepts like it's a confession. 

Seonghwa nods to himself, taking another puff of the smoke before he leans over, one large palm placed under Hongjoong's jaw, cradling it. 

This time when their lips meet, Hongjoong does allow himself to shiver against Seonghwa. Seonghwa opens his eyes and looks straight into Hongjoong's as he blows the smoke into his mouth before he pulls away, a thin string of saliva snapping between them.

Hongjoong feels warm all over and he pulls Seonghwa in slowly with one hand on his stretched out t-shirt collar, a question in his eyes in return but no signs of rejection. Hongjoong backs out on the last inch though, letting his hand fall to his lap. Seonghwa traces the way his hands leave his shirt and he takes another puff of smoke, chest expanding with the amount. He leans in, blindly groping for Hongjoong's hand, picking it up and fixing it on his collar as their mouths meet again. He blows the smoky air into his mouth slowly this time. Hongjoong is worried for Seonghwa's lungs when the other pulls away for a second and leans back in, without the smoke.

The kiss is soft at first, just a tentative touch of the lips, but Hongjoong melts, feeling all the non-existent fight and concern drain out of him. Seonghwa licks at the seam of his lips, seeking permission to get him to open his mouth. Hongjoong lets him in, their tongues tangling together. 

Hongjoong has never been kissed to be comforted, but it is what this is. Seonghwa's hands are home on the dip of his hip bones and there's barely any space between them, but Seonghwa's kissing him like he has all the time in the world, like he's apologizing for something and Hongjoong's heart aches.

The last time they were in this position, Seonghwa had kissed him like he was scared Hongjoong would run away any moment, it was possessive and desperate, but this time, it's soft and warm. Hongjoong loses himself in the sensation, but his head is holding up a placard that clearly spells what this is supposed to be; foreplay for what they’ve planned for the night. It feels a little like they're breaking the sanctity they've developed through the months of silence and practiced neglect by doing this, but it does nothing to deter Hongjoong from kissing Seonghwa back. 

Seonghwa's teeth nip at his bottom lip and Hongjoong lets out a shuddering moan, his hand on Seonghwa's collar drifting to the back of his neck and tugging at the coarse hair there. 

Seonghwa sighs into Hongjoong's mouth, tasting like cigarettes and undying perseverance, like ruin and danger, a combination that turns out to be lethal for Hongjoong, the passion in the way Seonghwa holds him making stars explode in his mind’s self-made galaxy. He lets himself be tugged and manhandled so that he's straddling Seonghwa.

Hongjoong whimpers when Seonghwa pulls away from the kiss, kissing down Hongjoong's neck, leaving small bites on the skin there. But the thought about the night has ruined Hongjoong's focus so he places a palm flat on Seonghwa's chest. Seonghwa stops immediately, looking up at him in confusion and a hint of panic.

"Is this… is this going where I think it's going?" Hongjoong asks, voice low.

Seonghwa hesitates, but nods.

"It’s just us, it’s going to be fine, right?” It isn’t a question, but he can’t help but voice his concern out loud.

Seonghwa seems shaken, but he nods and drags his hand up Hongjoong’s torso, the tips of his fingers catching on the fabric of Hongjoong’s t-shirt, placing a palm on Hongjoong's neck before he cradles his jaw with it again like he'd been doing before.

"As long as you’re okay with it," Seonghwa says. It’s an offer to back out if he wants to.

"I am," Hongjoong says and finds himself meaning it. 

It's a statement that's ripped straight from the darkest place in his heart, but it's also as close to a confession Hongjoong will give Seonghwa now, especially considering how delicate their partnership is. Seonghwa must see it for what it is because he kisses him again, deep and painfully slow, every flick of his tongue screaming complete confidence as Hongjoong feels warmth pool in his gut.

“_ Seonghwa _,” he moans and Seonghwa tenses up before he tugs him even closer, biting into Hongjoong’s lips sharply.

“_ Bedroom _,” Seonghwa grits and Hongjoong nods, their foreheads pressed together. His body feels all too hot, arousal running through his veins. They rise to their feet together and Hongjoong turns to walk to their room, but suddenly, he feels Seonghwa’s lean body press against his back. He stills, attempting to control his breathing as Seonghwa runs his hands down his arms, blunt nails dragging a path on his skin. Seonghwa presses a firm kiss against his neck before he bites down, teeth clamping over a fold of his skin and Hongjoong hisses, pain shooting down his spine before Seonghwa licks over it and kisses the skin there.

_ I like biting. _

Seonghwa had mentioned that when they discussed their preferences in bed and Hongjoong had oh so conveniently forgotten. 

“I told you about this, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa whispers, his voice caressing Hongjoong’s ear, teeth clinking against the ruby star earring. 

“I just remembered,” Hongjoong says, guilty for forgetting about it and letting himself get lost in the moment.

“You can’t do that there, not when they’ll pick up on everything we do and read into it,” Seonghwa warns, arms wrapping around Hongjoong’s waist and squeezing tightly. 

“I won’t,” Hongjoong promises, voice firm even as his body threatens to shake from just Seonghwa’s skin touching his.

“My room,” Seonghwa directs, pulling Hongjoong with his wrist as he turns to take steps towards his room. Hongjoong follows wordlessly and allows himself to be pulled into another kiss, giving as good as he gets, meeting Seonghwa’s attempts to lick into his mouth with his own, the obscene sounds of their moans and wet tongues dancing against each other filling the room.

It’s Seonghwa who shrugs out of his shirt first and it’s so different from how Hongjoong had imagined him to be in bed, not that he’d allowed himself that luxury, stemming from his fear of crossing a line. Hongjoong lets his hands map the scars on his torso, lighter skin knitted together over his abs, ribs and under his collarbone. Seonghwa’s curious gaze follows his movements carefully before his patience runs out and he grabs Hongjoong’s thin wrist with his hands.

“I’m not going to ask you permission to get you naked if we have to do this there, but I’m going to ask now,” he breathes, staring straight into Hongjoong’s eyes, his dominant aura already managing to make Hongjoong weak in the knees, “can I take your clothes off?”

Hongjoong feels his heart skip a beat at the command guised like a request, already feeling a little hazy from handing over the reins to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa would take care of him. There weren’t many things in Hongjoong’s life he trusted more than this one particular belief.

Hongjoong nods, closing his eyes as Seonghwa tugs the shirt off with deft fingers before he leads Hongjoong backwards till the back of his knees hit the frame of the bed. 

“Scoot back,” Seonghwa says, voice dripping desire as he eyes Hongjoong up like he can’t believe he’s doing this, like he doesn’t want to drag his eyes away from him. 

Why would anyone ever want that with Hongjoong? He wasn’t _special._

Seonghwa notices his little tryst with his self-esteem issues and snaps a finger in front of him.

“You zone out during foreplay. Noted,” he says, lips curling in disapproval.

“I’m sorry. I’m not like this usually,” Hongjoong promises, suddenly feeling like he’s taken up something he can’t manage on his own.

Seonghwa leans away from him.

“One word and I will stop, Hongjoong,” he says, his tone of voice making it seem like it was an unbreakable vow.

“Don’t,” Hongjoong pleads and drags Seonghwa into the bed with a hand tugging the collar of his shirt. Seonghwa falls willingly on top of him, his palms on either side of Hongjoong’s face, eyes flicking over his features as if in search of some sort of rejection.

When he finds none, he leans down, their lips meeting in a searing kiss that makes Hongjoong’s toes curl. Seonghwa’s an excellent kisser, but what makes the kisses so different is how Hongjoong feels the exact moment when his control slips and he backtracks to his normal pace before slipping again making the kiss a constant tug of war, much like the nature of their partnership.

Seonghwa runs a cold finger over Hongjoong’s nipple, eyes still fixed on Hongjoong and he gasps without inhibition.

Hongjoong jerks, whimpering softly.

Seonghwa nips at the skin around his nipples, leaving little bite marks around them, every graze of his sharp teeth against his skin making Hongjoong’s skin rise with goosebumps. He’s way too focused on observing and catching Hongjoong’s reactions that he can barely hold in the sounds he wants to make. Seonghwa is dangerously slow with his ministrations like he knows Hongjoong is holding back and wants to hear him.

When Seonghwa finally leans in to connect their lips, Hongjoong arches up to meet him.

“_Fuck_,” Seonghwa groans against his parted lips, like he’s losing all his senses. Hongjoong preens a little at the groan. “You’re so pretty, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa praises, the words uttered into Hongjoong’s mouth before he directs Hongjoong’s chin up with one finger to pull him back into the kiss, passion making it twice as desperate.

The praise echoes in Hongjoong’s mind and he feels extra sensitive of every touch that Seonghwa’s fingers lands on him.

Seonghwa’s arms stretch to the side, his one palm still on the bed on the side of Hongjoong’s face, balancing his weight. There’s the telltale sound of a drawer opening and the familiar crackle of condom wrappers.

“Are you clean?” Hongjoong asks and it’s a rhetorical question really, because everyone at KQ got tested every six months. It was protocol. 

And as far as Hongjoong knew, Seonghwa hadn’t slept with anyone in the course of their partnership unless he sneaked someone in through the window or something which didn’t seem very likely considering that their priorities were staying alive and not turning completely insane.

Seonghwa gapes at him for a long moment and it’s mad how attractive he looks even like that. He closes his mouth with an audible click of his jaw.

“Yeah, I’m clean,” he says, nodding, one hand still clutching a condom.

It’s kind of hilarious, but Hongjoong doesn’t laugh.

“Well then, fuck me bare,” Hongjoong whispers, arching his back, his lips rubbing against Seonghwa’s.

Seonghwa lets out a sigh of frustration and puts the condom on the table, grabbing the lube instead. He sits back on his haunches, finally pulling away from Hongjoong’s personal space if only for a moment. He _ feels _ the loss in his gut.

“How long has it been?” Seonghwa’s question is pretty ambiguous, but Hongjoong knows enough to read into it.

“Months,” he answers, craning his neck to look Seonghwa properly in the face.

Seonghwa turns wide eyes on him like he hadn’t expected that answer, but he doesn’t comment otherwise.

“Have you fingered yourself recently?”

Hongjoong feels a flush take over his face, but he shakes his head, “I… I haven’t had the time.”

Seonghwa nods, stripping Hongjoong of his sweatpants and boxers in one quick downward tug after a glance seeking permission.

Hongjoong feels vulnerable like this, naked under Seonghwa’s hawk-like gaze, but more than that he’s surprised at the desire pooling in the other’s eyes.

“Are you going to stare and keep on asking questions or are you going to finally learn to _ do _me?” Hongjoong asks, biting his bottom lip.

Seonghwa clearly doesn’t appreciate the tone because he opens the lube bottle so roughly the cap flies off to the side. He leans down and nips on the skin of Hongjoong’s inner thigh and he keens loudly, not bothering to filter himself.

“Can I?” Seonghwa mouths against his hip bone and when Hongjoong nods, granting permission, he presses a lubed up finger against Hongjoong’s entrance, circling around it with one finger. Hongjoong gasps at the touch, hips jerking off the bed without his own volition. Seonghwa presses him down with one hand, mouthing and licking at the sensitive skin before he presses the slicked finger inside him without preamble. Hongjoong whines at the intrusion, but he doesn’t ask Seonghwa to stop, letting him work up to it.

“It’s gonna take time,” Hongjoong warns, watching Seonghwa struggle with even getting his first knuckle in, clearly wondering if he’s making it hurt. Hongjoong usually prepared himself beforehand if he knew sex was on the menu because most people usually gave up quickly due to lack of patience, most of his encounters turning out to be more pain than pleasure. He wonders if Seonghwa will find the preparation part as infuriating as others did. He tries to ignore how his chest pangs at the thought, but it’s better said than done.

“Seems like it,” Seonghwa says and promptly licks Hongjoong’s neglected cock making Hongjoong keen high and loud, not having expected that particular move. He briefly registers Seonghwa’s finger completely sliding inside him.

“But I have time,” Seonghwa says with a small smile, and mouths at Hongjoong’s cock, one finger pumping in and out of his entrance. To say Hongjoong is overwhelmed with sensations is an understatement. He’s positively preening as Seonghwa laps at his cock with incredible skill. It’s not a conventional blowjob, no hollowing of cheeks or throat bobbing action going on, but it’s still more than enough to have Hongjoong’s cock leak precum and put him on the ends of an incoming orgasm.

Hongjoong moans again, louder than the mewls he’s been reduced to for the past few minutes, breath stuttering at Seonghwa’s finger joining his first. Hongjoong can’t help it so he drags Seonghwa up and lifts his head for a kiss that Seonghwa gives him willingly.

The kiss is messier than the ones they’d shared before because it’s more of Hongjoong gasping into Seonghwa’s mouth than actual committed kissing, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem to mind, devouring Hongjoong’s whimpers like he’s pleased just from the sounds he’s making.

When Seonghwa finally manages to add a third finger after what seems like ages later, Hongjoong whispers an apology against his ear.

“What for?” Seonghwa asks, raising an eyebrow even as he fucks into Hongjoong with his long fingers at just the right pace to keep him on the edge but not come.

"For making this so hard…" Hongjoong gasps again, whining as Seonghwa's fingers graze against his prostate, "for you."

Seonghwa balks at him like he can't believe him. 

"Hongjoong," he calls, voice tense, "the fact that you're letting anyone do this to you is a gift on its own. If I don't have the patience to prepare you properly then I don't _ deserve _ to have sex with you. The people who made you feel like you were in the wrong for that, fuck them!"

Seonghwa's words are soaked in disbelief like he can't believe that there were people around who wouldn't even make sure their partner wasn't in too much pain.

Hongjoong merely nods, too turned on to coherently respond to that. Seonghwa sees his pliancy for what it is, shimmying out of his pants, grabbing his hard cock with his lubed up fingers. 

Hongjoong can't just look and not touch so he leans forward and pulls Seonghwa into his space before flipping them. He straddles Seonghwa's hips, pointedly trying to ignore the way Seonghwa's hair fanned out on the pillow and looked way too soft.

"I wanna ride you," Hongjoong confesses, wanting to give Seonghwa something for all his patience with him.

Seonghwa skims his gaze over Hongjoong and he must be pleased with what he sees because he nods.

Hongjoong lets his hands wrap around Seonghwa's already hardening cock. Seonghwa makes a strangled gasp, but it's quiet like he generally tended to be with every aspect of his life. Hongjoong isn't surprised. He leans down and licks a stripe up Seonghwa's cock, his priority being to please Seonghwa. 

He bobs his head after he takes the tip of Seonghwa's cock in his mouth, the other having a visibly hard time with staying in control. 

Hongjoong catches all the moves which make Seonghwa react and records them silently in a part of his brain for the mission, but he doesn't shy away from letting himself enjoy it too. Seonghwa had looked like he'd been enjoying what he did too so there's significantly less guilt going into this. 

When Hongjoong finally pulls his mouth off of Seonghwa's cock and lines it up against his entrance, Seonghwa's gaze is half-hooded but still possessively fixed on him. It makes an involuntary shiver wrack his body as he finally sinks down on his cock.

Seonghwa's hand comes to grip his hip bones and he thrusts up too, Hongjoong seeing stars at the move in the best way possible. 

"Fuck!" He screams when a particular thrust from Seonghwa slams and hits his prostate, his eyes screwing shut in response. 

When he opens them, having paused for a second at the deluge of sensation, Seonghwa is watching him like he's something precious.

Hongjoong couldn't remember anyone ever looking at him like that. 

He doesn't let himself get carried away with the sensation though, trying to catalogue every twitch that got Seonghwa's blood going, of every graze of his lips and the particular trajectory of the drag against his skin, so that they don't flounder on the job.

(It's also for Hongjoong to remember and cherish for later because he can't imagine this happening again, not in their space like this, not with so much care bordering on affection. Hongjoong isn't that blessed to have Seonghwa like this again. Once is enough of an anomaly.)

Seonghwa goads him on with praises, quiet whispers of _ you're so hot _ and _ beautiful _ escaping his lips when compared to the screams and yells of _ slut _ and _ whore _ that have been ingrained into his brain since he stepped into this job. 

When his legs start cramping, pleasure building and building with no end in sight, Seonghwa flips them over like Hongjoong had done but after seeking silent permission. Hongjoong murmurs protest when he pulls out, but he keens when Seonghwa's cock slams back in, hitting his spot over and over again. It's filthy, the sounds they're making, but it's also not strange or awkward so Hongjoong doesn't pay it any heed. 

He comes when Seonghwa's teeth clamp over his nipple, the added sensation throwing him over the edge. Seonghwa is about to pull away when Hongjoong stops him with his hand, not caring about how he'll have to spend more time to clean up later. 

"Are you sure?" Seonghwa asks.

Hongjoong bucks his hips to show him that it is more than fine. 

Seonghwa whispers _ fuck _ as he releases inside him after a couple of thrusts, pulling out slowly and collapsing on the bed after.

Hongjoong's head spins, heat leaving him, dazed from the aftershocks of what has happened. 

But it's Seonghwa who steals the words right out of his mouth. 

"Was it alright?"

Hongjoong's heart twists in his chest.

"It was perfect," he replies. 

In the silence that follows, Hongjoong gets up and walks to the bathroom, not caring to cover himself up.

It's nothing Seonghwa hasn't seen yet.

It's the sense of loss that floods his chest which causes the tears to roll down his cheeks. Hongjoong numbly cleans himself up and walks out of the bathroom a few minutes later with a washcloth for Seonghwa to clean himself up that he throws to him.

Seonghwa's eyes are bloodshot like his, but Hongjoong isn't ready to brave a conversation about this part so he doesn't.

Seonghwa stares at his eyes in return and Hongjoong clearly sees the question on his face, but he doesn't ask either, like he's choosing to stay quiet too.

Hongjoong goes to his room with the knowledge that Eden had indeed been right in putting them both together. Both he and Seonghwa were equipped with the overall emotional IQ of a coconut shell. 

It's a brief thought before he slips under at his mind's mercy and nothing else.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Let me know what you thought about this chapter and leave kudos if you liked it. I love listening to your opinions and thoughts!!
> 
> Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!


	8. Mission Six: Push you out, Pull you in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, this chapter is a monster. It's standing at 25.9k words, (looks pointedly at my sore wrists) but, I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> TW: Mentions of a panic attack and a scene where an OC forces a kiss on Hongjoong.

"I think we should move it there," Hongjoong says, pointing his finger at the centre of the room, opposite to the wall that faces the tv.

Seonghwa looks between the couch that he just dragged in and the wall, straightening up and stretching before he nods. Hongjoong helps the other pull the couch and arrange it so that it sits smack dab in the middle of the living room, bigger than their own apartment. 

"This place is huge," Hongjoong comments, plopping down on the couch. Seonghwa leans back against the soft but slightly worn cushion and makes a small sound of agreement, flicking his gaze across the unfamiliar plane of the room. 

Instead of going to get the furniture themselves, they'd had Yunho order some old furniture to fill their new apartment which was leased by KQ for the mission. The place came with some pre-installed furniture, but there was the glaring lack of a bed and a couch. When asked, Eden had simply said that it had been collateral damage. Hongjoong hadn't prodded because it didn't seem relevant to their mission.

It was easy to see that the place had history. Hongjoong could see it in the dent in the wood of the wardrobe door, the chipped countertop of the kitchen, the lack of a door to the bathroom, most definitely the doings of the previous agents who had been assigned the apartment before. Seonghwa had fixed the door hinge and fitted another door when they came in the day before to scope out their new residence.

Their apartment could have been used, but Eden had advised against it considering the proximity of the club and their own place. So here they were, thirty miles away from their apartment which had become home for the both of them over the course of ten months, longer for Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong would be lying if he said he didn't miss their place. It had only been a few hours since they packed the essentials and moved here, but there was the distinct feeling that Hongjoong identified as stemming from suddenly uprooting himself and settling into an unfamiliar place. 

Hongjoong feels off-kilter, almost painfully like an incongruity and it makes him feel a little angry at himself too because he'd sworn to not get attached to places, not with how precarious their jobs were, not when their cover could be blown any second despite the illusion of stability that the apartment served. It was extremely dangerous for them to have a home, to crave the comfort of familiar walls, to miss the exact way the sunlight would stream into their rooms. 

Safe houses were the norm, but KQ, as much as it neglected the emotions of their agents, treating them like machines, knew the importance of making it seem like there was at least something stable to go back after the kind of horror they had to face on a daily basis. 

Hongjoong would have been comfortable with the move had it not been for the uncertain mission window. It doesn’t help that he has no clue when he'll get to sleep in his bed. 

Seonghwa scoots closer and puts an arm around him like he knows some part of Hongjoong is craving comfort, but with the way he sighs when Hongjoong lets himself relax, it's easy to figure that it's as much for his comfort as it is for Hongjoong's. Hongjoong puts a palm flat on Seonghwa's thighs and squeezes lightly, a reassurance. 

That's another thing that has been seeing a slow but certain shift. It was largely for the mission's sake, but back hugs and sharing beds had become common in the past few weeks. Hongjoong had improved significantly in terms of not flinching at every single touch Seonghwa initiated. He was scared of reaching out first, but with the way Seonghwa seemed to try his best to get better at it, it didn't feel right to not reciprocate, especially when he knew the exact reason why he didn't in the first place.

Their first time having sex had ended with a flood of tears that Hongjoong smothered into his pillow, an ache in his heart and parts of his body which made him shiver in the best way possible, but it had been a step forward as much as it was the cause for persistent heartbreak in Hongjoong’s case. 

"You miss our place," Seonghwa points out, like it's an observation. Hongjoong hates being so transparent, but it's Seonghwa, so he doesn't say anything untoward or deny it. His pathetic self just hangs on to how Seonghwa said _ our place _ instead of just calling it the apartment.

"Don't you?" Hongjoong asks, genuinely curious. 

Seonghwa's breath hits the side of his head with the angle they're sitting in. Hongjoong hasn't quite leaned in completely yet, maybe that’s why Seonghwa tugs him even closer, a clear sign to go ahead and lean on him. Hongjoong resists the urge but gives up in the last minute, letting his body sag against the other. 

Seonghwa lets out a tired sigh in response, but it sounds like contentment too.

"I do," Seonghwa replies, sounding a little wistful. Hongjoong isn't expecting him to continue, but he does and says, "I haven't thought of any place as home in a long time."

Hongjoong turns around in Seonghwa’s hold to peer into his eyes and seeing such raw emotion pooling on the other’s face is like watching blood seep slowly out of a wound, gradual and lethal.

“I’m glad, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, meaning it with everything he has. A tiny part of him asks him if he’s ever not meant anything he’s told Seonghwa. It’s a question he already knows the answer to, so he shoves the thought out the window. Seonghwa doesn’t say anything in response, instead tightening his hold over Hongjoong’s shoulder. This is new, being pulled to Seonghwa’s side, but he doesn’t have any reason to protest, not that he ever would if it is Seonghwa. His body’s tendency to tense up at every touch he doesn’t anticipate has also waned over the week, so it’s comfortable, Seonghwa’s body heat drifting and seeping inside his skin. 

Hongjoong has always adapted quickly to new circumstances though, so it isn’t exactly a novelty that threatens to shake the very foundation of his personality. 

It helps that Seonghwa is someone who means a lot to him, something beyond what words could ever convey, the one or two words Hongjoong _ can _ use to describe him blissfully slipping away from him due to his lack of courage. 

Seonghwa pulls Hongjoong closer and scoots up, making Hongjoong’s cheek rest on the other’s chest, periodically rising and falling with every breath. Every touch simmers through him, the palm over his bicep rubbing circles with a long thumb, the way he can feel Seonghwa’s chin touching the skin of his forehead even through the thin curtain that is his messy crimson hair, it’s largely what caused the tensing up in the beginning, but now, he lets it ignite his nerves and set him on fire, hoping to all Gods that whatever he is feeling doesn’t show on his face. Seonghwa can’t actually see his face from this angle, but he can hear the way Seonghwa’s heart speeds up just a little.

Hongjoong doesn’t understand why he feels himself go misty-eyed at the pounding heartbeat against his ear. Hongjoong lets his left palm drag over Seonghwa’s chest and rests it on one of his pectorals.

“You don’t tense up anymore,” Seonghwa says, his voice low and resonating through their points of contact. It’s another observation and Hongjoong isn’t fond of people who dissect his personality and proceed to vocalize every thought like he’s a product whose features are being announced for customers to stake a claim, but something about the way Seonghwa says it makes Hongjoong blink back tears, even though he is not all that surprised that Seonghwa has noticed. 

Their dynamic solely rested on observing every little thing the other did, after all. 

The fact that actual words are being used by Seonghwa instead of the almost primal sounds made at the back of his throat from months ago, it makes Hongjoong happy and he appreciates that because he knows it’s hard for Seonghwa to talk, so he doesn’t let his effort go unnoticed, doesn’t do anything to discount the progress made over months. He’s aware that Seonghwa is holding him close because they have the mission coming up soon, but it doesn’t feel like they are fulfilling their sole function as explicators of what their job demanded. It feels like something more, but he’s scared to voice it aloud because he’s worried that it’s all just because of his true feelings, the feelings he’ll never allow himself to admit, not until he was certain of all the heartbreak that would come with the territory.

“I’m comfortable with you,” Seonghwa’s breath hitches as Hongjoong says it, but he merely curls his hand in the other’s button-up shirt and smooths over the crinkles a second later. “I’m comfortable with how you touch me.”

Hongjoong hates how that sounds, but he thinks that Seonghwa is dense enough to not notice the multiple implications of this one particular admission.

He pointedly tries to ignore how Seonghwa’s heart continues to pound against the skin of his cheek.

Seonghwa is silent for a long moment.

“You have to let me know if you get uncomfortable with anything I do, Hongjoong. You won’t always be comfortable and that’s okay, but I’d rather know than be lost.”

Hongjoong feels a skeptical laugh bubble up in his chest, but he doesn’t let it out because it isn’t Seonghwa’s fault that he doesn’t know how far Hongjoong would bend for him, how far he’d stoop for him.

“I will,” Hongjoong promises, but he doesn’t mean it because nothing Seonghwa does will ever make him feel that way. It’s an unhealthy way of thinking, but they drowned in secrets, they stalked people for days, they _ killed _ for a living. _ Nothing _ about this life was healthy.

“Five overdoses this week,” Seonghwa says, after a significant amount of time has passed. It’s enough time for Hongjoong to shrug off the hyper-awareness that came with having Seonghwa so close to him. He’s a little drowsy because of how comfortable he is too, Seonghwa’s warm body and cold hands touching him. There’s an ache in some part of his heart because of the reminder that this is how everything could be if his feelings were to be ever reciprocated, but it’s a utopian dream that Hongjoong knows better than to dwell on for too long.

Five is a small number compared to the reports Eden forwarded to them ever since they were tentatively assigned the mission. Fifty-one cases in the past two months when bureaucracy and KQ took their time with approving the mission. It used to bother Hongjoong, but he knows that there’s a thin line that separates them and the police and he knows better than to cross it. KQ was all about strategizing and focusing on the greater good, something Hongjoong adapted quickly to, because the only logic that worked in their field was prioritising numbers. 

_ Five _ was collateral damage. _ Fifty one _ was collateral damage.

Every single life lost in the time they spent scheming was collateral and _ necessary _ damage which only served as the buffer for the safety of people from becoming future victims.

That said, aside from their skill set, this was definitely a job for the police department. If not for the sizable death toll, there is no way that this job would have been forwarded to them. It’s a huge responsibility that Hongjoong hopes they will be able to shoulder well.

“It’s just a few more days. We’ll stop this, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong assures even if the other’s words were a mere reminder.

Seonghwa stays silent, the only sign that he heard Hongjoong being the smallest nod that Hongjoong feels from where they’re pressed close together in a recreation of an embrace.

Hongjoong doesn’t attempt to disrupt the shroud of quiet that falls before them too. When he moves a little to straighten himself out, his heart aching with yearning, he freezes as cold realization washes over him.

_ Seonghwa is asleep. _

It’s a quarter past five in the evening and Hongjoong is tucked close to Seonghwa and Seonghwa… reticent, glaring, grumpy, closed-off Seonghwa is _ holding _ Hongjoong as he _ sleeps. _

Hongjoong _ knows _ that they trust each other. It’s all they’ve always had even in the moments when they didn’t know each other and the only thing they could rely on was this base instinct of indomitable faith that ran in the space between them, like a bridge over a river connecting the banks on either side.

It’s what Hongjoong saw in that meeting months ago in Eden’s room, the potential to trust the man beside him, the realization that he could turn his back on him and _ trust _ Seonghwa to look out for him. He’d seen a man who deserved trust because the world had taken that away from him. Hongjoong hadn’t known how he knew that, but he’d seen Seonghwa and he hadn’t been able to deny Eden’s offer. Along with a misplaced sense of protectiveness and an off-brand curiosity that wasn’t a part of his personality to know exactly what had happened to Seonghwa, Hongjoong had seen a tentative truce drawn in the one foot of space between their chairs as he took one look at the ebony hair covering Seonghwa’s eye line from him and decide to agree to being his permanent partner.

They’ve demonstrated this many times too, the sheer faith they had in each other reflecting in every move they made, but _ this _, Seonghwa holding him, even though it isn’t a novelty in light of one eventful night spent on the balcony and another evening on the roof, Hongjoong finds that his heart is in his throat because it can’t quite process this new level of intimacy.

They aren’t even on a bed. There’s no one keeping watch on them. There’s absolutely _ no _ need for this proximity to carry on to this particular point. Sure, Hongjoong _ can _ write this off, but something in the way Seonghwa is clutching him so desperately tight even in sleep, _ that something _ won’t let him ignore this particular moment.

And that’s what makes it hurt all the more because Hongjoong _ has to _.

He _ has to _ ignore the way Seonghwa holds him. He _ has to _ ignore how careful Seonghwa had been when he blew smoke into his mouth and kissed him. He _ has to _ ignore the way Seonghwa had looked at him as Hongjoong had lowered himself down on him. He can’t afford to dwell on how Seonghwa had driven with red eyes to Mingi’s apartment in the middle of the night, how he’d held him after their recent assassination mission, how Seonghwa had hugged Hongjoong’s stomach after the near-death incident.

Putting it out there like this, Hongjoong _ knows _ what people will infer, what they will see.

But Hongjoong has to ignore every single moment they acted like a couple, like they meant more to each other than being partners, he has to ignore all of it, because it can _ never _ be.

Hongjoong has to forget, he has to ignore. For his sake, for Seonghwa’s sake.

So, Hongjoong rubs circles on Seonghwa’s chest with his index finger and lets his eyes slip closed, one arm between them in a way he knows will make his shoulder go numb. Hongjoong lets them be, lets them have what he wants in a way that can never be, lets himself save this for later when Seonghwa will inevitably drift away.

Hongjoong just lets himself be held by Seonghwa and when sleep comes to him, he fights against it with every last dreg of energy he has just so he can cherish another moment when he’d felt Seonghwa’s warmth against his body. 

It’s a losing battle, but in this particular display of trust, Hongjoong doesn’t know why he feels like he’s already won.

***

Hongjoong can feel Seonghwa’s gaze on him even as the other chops up onions without tearing up. It’s a miracle to Hongjoong because he always turns red like a lobster from how hard the offending vegetable works its chemicals on him. He’s a little jealous if he’s speaking honestly. 

Seonghwa flicks his gaze at him again and Hongjoong is tempted to ask the other to keep his eyes on the knife lest he gets himself hurt in the process. They’re scheduled to visit the BDSM shop the next day and Hongjoong can feel how wired he is.

It’s why he’s seated at the dining table on the other side of the counter. Watching Seonghwa cook is calming and he seems to be in a good mood today because he isn’t staring at the wall or the knife every now and then like he had a tendency to. The only thing out of place that’s making Hongjoong anxious is how Seonghwa glances at him with this one look he can’t quite decipher.

“You’re going to get hurt, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong warns when he deems the gesture a hazard, calling the other out when he’s moved on to carrots and continues to check on Hongjoong every other minute, his hands going through the process of chopping without halting.

Seonghwa puts the knife down and grips the counter tightly. For a whole moment, Hongjoong wonders if Seonghwa is going to ask him to leave, but Seonghwa shakes his head and sighs heavily, making eye contact again.

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow in a bid to get him to explain why he’s acting so jittery today. 

“It’s your hair,” he says and shakes his head again like it’s an incredulous thing to say. “It’s distracting.”

Hongjoong feels his eyebrows knit into a frown, but as disappointed as he is at how offended Seonghwa sounds because of his hair, he doesn’t convey it.

Instead, he asks, “Do you want me to go to my room?”

Seonghwa looks up again, eyes widening in surprise like he’s just realizing how he might have sounded.

“No,” he says, sharply. Hongjoong frowns again. “It’s… it’s okay. I’m just… you’re pretty.”

_ Oh. _

Seonghwa seems like he’s in pain, face scrunched up like he can’t quite believe what he’s just said so Hongjoong decides to put him out of his misery despite his heart pounding so hard he feels like it might jump out of his chest any moment.

“Uh… thank you?” He says and Seonghwa just gives him a curt nod. Hongjoong tilts his head and gives him a small smile. Seonghwa stares, jaw dropping a little before he shuts it with a loud click that resounds in the kitchen.

Hongjoong’s heart is doing somersaults inside his chest, but his throat is locked and he wants to tell Seonghwa, wants him to know that he thinks the same about him, that he’s the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes on, but his voice fails him. He doesn’t know if Seonghwa will appreciate the reciprocation too so he just tucks that into a corner of his heart he has assigned for Seonghwa, knowing it will never see the light of day.

An hour later, Seonghwa’s done making dinner. Hongjoong had offered to help, but Seonghwa had let him down gently by saying he just needed something to do with his hands. Hongjoong pokes around on his phone, trying to resolutely keep his eyes from drifting towards Seonghwa. It’s difficult, but he somehow manages to keep himself together so that he doesn't end up making Seonghwa feel self-conscious about staring at him. 

In his peripheral vision, Hongjoong can see Seonghwa walk in his direction, but he pretends like the golden retriever gif he’s looking at is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Seonghwa sits down next to him, the leg of the chair screeching the slightest. They rarely eat together so Hongjoong isn’t expecting for Seonghwa to slide a plate to him, much less settle opposite him. 

“It’s not poisoned,” Seonghwa says, a teasing undertone to it, gesturing towards the plate of japchae.

“Now that you say that, I’m not so sure it isn’t,” Hongjoong teases back, feeling a little brave.

Seonghwa keeps eye contact for a second and Hongjoong watches his cheeks turn warm. 

_ He’s blushing _, Hongjoong realizes with a jolt. He notes it down for future reference and digs into his food with fervor.

The food is great, as it usually is when Seonghwa was involved. It’s hard to believe that anyone in their field knew how to cook, mostly because agencies taught them everything except the basic ability required for sustenance. Whatever Hongjoong knows about cooking is because of Wooyoung and San and even they had their little trysts with dishes which went haywire in college. Neither of the pair is as good at it as Seonghwa is, but they’re leagues ahead of Hongjoong in this particular domain Hongjoong has willingly stepped away from.

That Seonghwa, aside from his intentional silence and his periodical rendezvous with irrevocable trauma, could be the perfect boyfriend is a thought Hongjoong shoves down his throat along with the glass noodles, cooked vegetables and beef. It doesn’t help to dwell on the fact that Hongjoong doesn’t mind the silence or the trauma if it meant Seonghwa would have him, so he just chooses not to.

Hongjoong eats quietly, catching Seonghwa’s eyes every now and then. There’s this weird sort of tension in the air that trumps the usual tense air around them. It’s a similar brand, but it’s _ not _ the same.

When they’re done eating, Hongjoong gets up first, Seonghwa following him to the sink wordlessly. It’s quiet except for the sounds of Hongjoong washing the dishes and Seonghwa drying them with a towel, until they’re done and they meet each other’s gazes again.

They’re standing barely a foot apart and Hongjoong can smell the musk that clings to Seonghwa’s skin. It’s a heady feeling that he can’t quite ignore and it does absolutely no favors in helping Hongjoong from dwelling on one particular question that's been clinging to his mind since morning and he figures that it’s now or never so without any preamble, he asks, “Can you tie my hands together, Seonghwa?”

It’s probably not the smartest thing to say considering how Seonghwa had been about to grab a glass of water, but he turns slowly and thankfully, doesn’t look too shocked by the sudden request.

The BDSM store was quite the place from what Hongjoong had read from reports. From whatever information was available, it was easy to figure that things would go a lot smoother if they could get their attention quickly. 

_ What better option would get attention as quickly as bruises from being tied up would? _

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa asks, instead of agreeing instantly. “We could visit the place a couple of times if they don’t notice us the first time. You don’t have to push yourself.”

Hongjoong doesn’t want to drag this mission out any longer than it needed to be so he shakes his head.

“A lot of people died, Seonghwa. I know we care more for the majority, but since we’re going to do this anyway, wouldn’t it be better to try everything we can while we’re at it to avoid more deaths?”

Seonghwa sighs and nods, his hand reaching out to grab Hongjoong’s and looping their fingers together. Seonghwa leads the way to their master bedroom. Hongjoong’s using the study as his makeshift bedroom, but they’ve been careful with the arrangement, leaving Hongjoong’s clothes among other stuff in the closet in the master bedroom because they were both equally paranoid about the ring members barging in any moment once they got directly involved in their nasty business. One could never be cautious enough.

Covering all bases was an instinct they never ignored. For good reason too.

Seonghwa pauses in front of the closet, Hongjoong's hand still entwined with his.

"I don't think I have bondage rope with me, Hongjoong. We could use a tie or something if you are fine with it."

Hongjoong shakes his head making Seonghwa look at him in confusion. 

It's a minor block but nothing they can't get past, so Hongjoong frees his hand from Seonghwa's and opens the closet, kneeling down and putting aside the shoes kept in front of the fake wooden panel so that he can drag his weapon bag out. 

"What are you doing?" Seonghwa asks, the look of confusion deepening.

"I have a rope garrote Mingi gave me," Hongjoong explains, silently thanking the younger for his obsession with grabbing varieties of assault weapons. He pulls the garrote from the box which contains his trench knives and straightens it out. It had been a gift after Mingi went to Moscow for a mission in collaboration with an agent of the elite squad of KQ's Moscow base. 

Hongjoong stands up after he tucks the weapon bag into the closet, pulling the fake wooden panel closed and placing the boots back in order. He hands the black rope to Seonghwa who merely stares at the object like it offends him somehow by its existence alone. 

"This will hurt," Seonghwa says, frowning so intensely at the garrote that if it were an alternate universe, it would have turned into ashes in mere seconds.

Hongjoong_ knows _it will hurt because even if the material is similar to bondage rope, it is sturdier because of its purpose as a garrote, but he finds that he doesn’t care. Bruises around his wrists weren’t going to put him out of commission, not with the kind of pain threshold he possessed. Also, it isn’t like Seonghwa was going to tie the rope so tight he’d lose blood circulation, so really, Hongjoong isn’t worried in the slightest. 

“It probably will, but that’s okay. It’s just for some time,” Hongjoong insists and drags Seonghwa to the bed. He climbs to the centre of the bed and runs a hand through his hair, biting his bottom lip in anticipation. Seonghwa’s eyes track the movement, but he doesn’t do anything else for a moment except swallow visibly.

Seonghwa seems to make up his mind within moments because he climbs on the bed with graceful but quick movements, a way of moving that Hongjoong doesn’t think he can ever mimic. He knows Seonghwa’s quiet and swift when he’s in motion, tending to put energy into being subtle and secretive, something they’ve all mastered for their job, but when he fights, he’s brutal and quick, nothing about it ever registering in Hongjoong’s head as being graceful but this, Seonghwa moving on all fours to him with a rope garrote in his hand and his dark hair flopping on his forehead, eyes intensely set on Hongjoong, he doesn’t think it is good for his heart.

Seonghwa settles down opposite him, his legs folded under him, mirroring Hongjoong’s own position. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asks, his voice husky.

Hongjoong’s heart pounds loudly in his chest, a part of him finally registering what he’s brought upon himself. If Hongjoong inhales slightly deeper, he can feel the musk that is so characteristic of Seonghwa and that doesn’t help matters much.

“Tie me up,” he whispers, leaning a little into Seonghwa’s personal space, tilting his head up to meet his gaze, his wrists touching like they’re already tied up.

Seonghwa exhales heavily, both his hands coming to cradle Hongjoong’s hands before he lets go and puts one hand under Hongjoong’s chin to lift his head so that their eyes can meet. Seonghwa’s gaze is intense and deep, like he’s scouring Hongjoong’s soul for any sign of denial, but the joke’s on Seonghwa because Hongjoong is so far _ gone _ in his head, he barely registers the touch.

Hongjoong recognizes the curtain that falls in front of his consciousness, the teetering edgy vacuum before he commits into subspace and he can’t remember a time when he has fallen so quickly into this particular zone. He isn’t fully there but god, he is _ so close _, he can taste the sweet tranquility and feel his resolution shaking like he’s a freezing man on a snowy day. His brain doesn’t want to think, wanting to submit and give up control in the low vermillion-tinted lighting of the lamp that the previous occupants had left behind and as much as he wants to let himself drift, he doesn’t know if Seonghwa is prepared for it. Seonghwa’s presence is intoxicating, and it makes it so hard for him to focus on everything around him, but the room is empty except for the kind of mood lighting action due to the clashing glows of their bedside lamps, one emitting bright yellowish light and the other, light saffron. 

Hongjoong doesn’t really pay much attention to anything else except for Seonghwa. It’s not like he wants to either. 

“Hey,” Seonghwa whispers against his lips, eyes flicking between Hongjoong’s own gaze and he must figure how gone he is because his breath hitches. Hongjoong moans as Seonghwa's hand on his chin drags against his throat as he relocates it to cup his cheeks, this time with both hands.

Hongjoong can feel his brain turning into cotton candy and he wants to collapse into Seonghwa, but instead, he gasps as the coolness of Seonghwa’s skin trickles slowly into his skin.

“Color, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, voice firm and it’s a demand, a quiet one.

Hongjoong moans again when his senses heighten at hearing Seonghwa’s low voice so close to him. “Green,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and opening them to somehow convey to Seonghwa that he’s still here, that he isn’t gone completely yet.

Seonghwa nudges Hongjoong’s lips with his own, a silent enquiry voiced in it. The soft touch, it’s not a kiss, seems to be intentional, like Seonghwa knows that Hongjoong is on the verge of a sensory overload and he’s grateful that Seonghwa’s so patient. 

“Go on,” Hongjoong whispers, his lips touching Seonghwa’s after he’s taken a moment to himself. 

Seonghwa pecks his lips once, catching Hongjoong off-guard, but his voice is lost to him at this moment so he just stares at Seonghwa with wide eyes that he knows are glazed over from the inebriating proximity. Seonghwa’s eyes are sharp like they’re pinning Hongjoong in place, but there's nothing sharp or edgy about how he lets his hands fall from Hongjoong’s cheeks to his side to grab the garrote. 

Seonghwa’s hands are gentle as they move Hongjoong’s wrists so that they’re pressed together as close as possible. The garrote wraps around his wrist once, twice and then, thrice, and Hongjoong smothers a gasp, but his breath hitches. Seonghwa freezes instantly, but he doesn’t free the grip he has on Hongjoong.

“Hongjoong?”

“It’s fine,” Hongjoong assures, but Seonghwa continues to stare at his face with a thin layer of concern Hongjoong knows he’s only seeing the tip of and decides to give him some impetus so that he’ll move on. Since his hands are already kind of bound up in that weird half-way tied up state that restricts his movement, he leans in and presses his lips to Seonghwa’s slightly chapped ones instead. 

Hongjoong doesn’t intend to turn it into an actual kiss, but Seonghwa’s mouth is slightly open and as he feels the wetness of his lips, he throws caution out the window and licks the other’s bottom lip. Seonghwa’s grip on the garrote tightens as he breathes deeply before he kisses Hongjoong back with languid and slow licks against his lips. Their tongues don’t tangle together in a messy dance, instead they brush by with every searing touch of their lips. Seonghwa nibbles on his upper lip and sucks on it, Hongjoong moaning at the sensation. 

Everything about this kiss is so soft and gentle and _ intimate _, Hongjoong feels like his heart is aching with the wave of affection that only seems to grow in size with every moment spent with Seonghwa. 

It’s Hongjoong who pulls away when the lack of oxygen gets to him. 

It’s heartbreaking to look at Seonghwa’s flushed face and bitten red lips, knowing he’ll never have had this if not for the mission.

Hongjoong is forcing himself to sober up a little when Seonghwa blinks slowly and leans in again, pecking him on the lips like he somehow can’t get enough and all Hongjoong wants to do is go fully pliant and let Seonghwa kiss him into euphoric limpness.

It surprises him when he meets Seonghwa’s gaze and the other looks like that’s what he wants to do too. Sometimes, Hongjoong had a tendency to forget how cruel his mind could be.

Seonghwa makes quick work of the rope garrote, twisting it again and looping it to make the knot tight. “This okay?” He asks.

Hongjoong nods, barely suppressing a moan at the way the sturdy material of the rope digs into the delicate skin of his wrists.

“Tighter,” he pleads and he sounds so beyond wrecked Hongjoong even surprises himself.

“It’ll hurt,” Seonghwa warns, both his thumbs rubbing comforting circles on the outside of his hands.

Hongjoong doesn’t intend to lose it completely like that, but he can feel his body heat up with arousal and the blissful feeling of having someone he trusts demand things of him with their presence alone. Subspace is a word that lingers in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t allow himself to give in to that particular zone, delicate and intense all in the same experience.

Hongjoong closes his eyes and shakes his head. Seonghwa doesn’t respond instantly, but slowly the rope digs in even further on his skin and Hongjoong feels his breath speed up, shuddering gently when Seonghwa leans in and puts his arms around his waist and pulls him closer to him, his tied arms between them, but not enough to hinder the way warmth trickles back and forth from their bodies.

“Is it good?” Seonghwa asks, lips brushing Hongjoong’s neck.

It’s a reminder that both of them are aware that this bruise-session has turned into something deeper, but Hongjoong doesn’t care at this point, so he rests his head on the bony expanse of Seonghwa’s collarbone and nods because he doesn’t trust his voice to articulate how good it is without breaking down.

Seonghwa nods, pressing a kiss on his neck in response. His hands slip under Hongjoong’s worn t-shirt and the first time the cool skin of his fingers makes contact, Hongjoong trembles violently, a full body shudder ripping through him. Seonghwa kisses his neck again, holding him a little tighter than he already was, hands roaming his back in indecipherable patterns.

“Do you want to let go, Hongjoong?”

It’s a simple question, but the fact that Seonghwa has realized how he is on the edge of falling in completely and giving in to a state where he can give up control completely makes him wonder how good Seonghwa is at reading body language.

But, Hongjoong’s thinking too much to let himself fall into it tonight so he shakes his head. Seonghwa’s blunt nails dance over the side of his ribs in return.

“Easy,” Seonghwa says as he guides his hands down with a firm but gentle hold on them when Hongjoong forgets for a moment that his hands are tied up and gives in to the instinct to run his hand through his hair. 

Seonghwa’s lips drag a wet trail down the side of his neck and Hongjoong just wishes he’d sink his teeth down like he knew he liked to. He wonders if that would be asking too much when Seonghwa interrupts him. “Do you mind if I…?” He asks, trailing off as his lips press across Hongjoong’s pulse point like he's reading his mind. 

“Please,” Hongjoong says, knowing he sounds desperate, the feeling augmented by the fact that Seonghwa has understood what he wants even without him articulating it. He moans loudly when Seonghwa’s teeth sink into the junction where his neck and shoulder meets. Seonghwa’s chest is heaving just like his and Hongjoong wonders if it’s just physical attraction, which was obvious at this point by how insanely compatible they were physically, judging by how their moments of intimacy went, or if it's something that Hongjoong is just overthinking.

Seonghwa sucks on a fold of his skin and it tugs him right out of his brain. It’s borderline painful, but Hongjoong likes it, his dutiful mind mentally jotting down a quick note to wear a turtleneck the day after so that Seonghwa can drag it down when they enter the store. There were bound to be marks and he was sure that it would gain some wanted attention.

Seonghwa pulls back after a few minutes, marking him in three different spots on the same side of his neck, Hongjoong trying in vain to stop himself from making sounds of pleasure and in avoiding the little broken gasps and groans escaping Seonghwa’s mouth.

“Mark me up. They’re going to pay attention,” Hongjoong says, pulling out of the embrace so that he can bare the other side of his neck for Seonghwa to decorate.

Hongjoong sees Seonghwa’s pupils dilate fully at his words before he leans in again, kissing and nipping Hongjoong’s neck with slow movements. Hongjoong feels his toes curl, the sensation of his hands bruising and the sensitive skin of his neck getting marked up by Seonghwa, filling him to the brim in an odd mixture of lust and a feeling that leaves Hongjoong feeling a little empty if only because his emotions are divided between taking this for what it is and what it could have been if the potential for something more was pursued by the both of them.

“You’re so good for me, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa whispers against his ear and his voice is gravelly in all the right ways that sends chills down his spine. It’s like velvet being pulled over him, all sensual and slow.

The praise makes him slump forward into Seonghwa again with only the barest control, but it hurts enough that Hongjoong’s mouth refuses a reply. Seonghwa holds him, his mouth detaching from Hongjoong’s neck after what seems like an eternity. Seonghwa really wasn’t kidding when he said he liked biting, but Hongjoong isn’t complaining.

They’re really just hugging at this point, well, Hongjoong’s hands are bound, but it is a hug all the same. Once the initial high has calmed and the maelstrom in his mind has quelled enough, Hongjoong’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach, mind giving up on keeping the illusion.

It’s relieving that Seonghwa chooses exactly that moment to ask, “Can I untie you? I think that’s long enough.”

Hongjoong nods, eyes pricking with tears he holds in with a measured deep breath as Seonghwa pulls away and fiddles with the rope as gently as he can. The rings at the end of the garrote clink together as Seonghwa leans over and puts it on the bedside table. His features are bathed in a mix of gold and tangerine and his woody musk scent is piercing and assuaging all at the same time as Hongjoong lets his gaze rake over the length of Seonghwa’s body.

His wrists are sore from the rope, but the pain doesn’t register and Hongjoong feels like he’s back to the night when he’d walked to the bathroom right after they had sex just so he wouldn’t break down in front of Seonghwa. They hadn’t talked about it the next morning, but things hadn’t been very different so Hongjoong had forced himself to cope with the way things were, at the lack of change that he honestly hadn’t anticipated in his consciousness.

Seonghwa checks over the red imprints of the ropes on Hongjoong’s wrists and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the delicate insides of his wrists. Hongjoong shivers at the gesture. He feels a skeptical laugh bubble up within him. Seonghwa had tied him up hard enough to bruise him and then proceeded to mark his neck up with his sharp teeth, but somehow, by some _ fucked up _ logic, it’s the barely-there brush of his lips on his wrist which causes the glass palace in Hongjoong’s head to break down from the ground up and undoes him.

The urge to run away is quick to seize him by his throat and he feels overwhelmed, lost in this game that he never wanted to play, not like this.

Hongjoong, against better judgement, tenses up and rips his hands away from Seonghwa’s cool touch, his partner turning to him with a panic-stricken look.

“I’m going to go sleep,” Hongjoong announces, scooting away from Seonghwa, trying to ignore the way Seonghwa looks so hurt at how he’d detached himself so quickly from him.

_ Why was he acting like Hongjoong had ripped his heart into shreds by this one move when he’d been killing him slowly with every day that passed? _

_ Why was Seonghwa looking at him with so much hurt? _

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa calls, his voice trembling like he’s pulling himself together just to ask this of Hongjoong, “I know this is for the mission, but I…can you just stay the night?”

Hongjoong chuckles internally at the irony. He would stay for forever and after if Seonghwa so much as gestured him to. 

It’s easy to let his tears die a slow death as he nods and touches Seonghwa’s hands with his bruised ones, blood flow getting back to its original state and warming his slightly numb hands. 

The conversation about the plan for the next day is merely a formality, most of it skipping right over Hongjoong’s head because they’d already discussed this before and also because Seonghwa's face is distracting when they’re lying next to each other like this, merely a breath apart. They lapse into silence, but Seonghwa’s eyes are still fixed on him and it’s the same inquisitive gaze. There’s a part of him that’s happy that Seonghwa doesn’t seem to be battling the demons in his head now, he’s _ here _, in this moment and not in some dystopia leagues away, not clawing at the walls of a purgatory he has created for himself. But Hongjoong’s curious as to why Seonghwa’s so intently looking at him.

“You’re staring, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says and he doesn’t know why a small smile catches up to his lips, but he lets it spread slowly over his face.

Seonghwa follows the way his lips curve and blinks once. “I have good reason to.”

Hongjoong’s still aching from the avalanche of emotions resulting from their intimate tryst barely an hour ago, but he’s not completely out of it to not pick up on the slight teasing undertone to Seonghwa’s words.

The fact that he’s just complimented him subtly doesn’t skip his notice.

“Do you?” Hongjoong quips.

“You’re pretty, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, staring at Hongjoong like he’s a dream. 

It’s only years of control that stops him from spitting his first thoughts out loud. He knows Seonghwa doesn’t mean any harm. Hongjoong wishes the words sounded empty, but they don't, replete with an indecipherable intensity that is beyond Hongjoong's pea brain that's too crammed with a feeling he doesn't want to name and the exhaustion that has snuck up on him in the aftermath of the bondage scene. 

“So you’ve said before,” Hongjoong states, letting his lips stretch a little wider.

Seonghwa lets out a deep sigh, but there’s a skeleton of a smile on his face too, something that instantly shifts Hongjoong’s mood and makes it better. However, it’s clear he doesn’t want to let this conversation go on further so Hongjoong lets the silence resume. 

Seonghwa’s expression slowly begins to twist into a frown and Hongjoong can see the gradual movement of his eyebrows as they progress to meeting in the middle. 

Perhaps it’s a habit from his college days that makes Hongjoong lift a hand and poke Seonghwa’s forehead with a finger.

Seonghwa goes cross-eyed as he looks at the finger before Hongjoong pulls it away.

“What’s wrong, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong asks, when Seonghwa doesn’t respond otherwise.

“I want to sleep,” Seonghwa replies wryly.

The fact that he’s _ trying _ but _ can’t _ doesn’t need to be said. Hongjoong doesn’t know what comes over him because he lifts his hand that isn’t under his head and slowly pushes Seonghwa’s hair away from his forehead only for the strands to fall back down. Seonghwa doesn’t move to remove his hand so Hongjoong takes that as encouragement and allows his fingers to drag over Seonghwa’s scalp with measured pressure. 

“It’s fine, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, but his eyes are closed like he's too comfortable to bother opening them.

“I don’t mind,” Hongjoong says instead, silently glad about being able to provide some semblance of comfort to Seonghwa, letting his hands move in soft strokes over the other’s scalp exactly how Wooyoung used to love it, but it feels like something is different just because his brain refuses to stop highlighting the fact that Seonghwa is involved.

They weren’t best friends. Maybe that’s what was different.

“Sleep, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong tells him when Seonghwa’s eyelids begin to droop. Seonghwa has been unintentionally fighting sleep but at his words, a single glance is thrown at him before he closes his eyes obediently.

It’s not the first time Seonghwa has fallen asleep in his presence, but Hongjoong is left to wonder why it always seemed to feel like some ground-breaking event that had some implication Hongjoong couldn't figure out yet.

Safe to say, he isn’t blessed with an answer.

***

“We already have eyes on us. Four o’clock. Bald man on the bench,” Seonghwa whispers, his gloved hands cupping Hongjoong’s cheeks, a smile on his face directed at him for just namesake. Seonghwa's palms are on either side of his face, pulling the beanie down over his ears. There are multiple advantages to this particular move. The first is that they get to spend a bit of time scoping the surroundings and the second is that they look like an actual couple in the eyes of everyone who might be looking. It's close enough that they can whisper to each other without being worried about someone overhearing them. It's two birds with one stone, really.

Hongjoong feels like someone’s stolen the air right out of his lungs because Seonghwa smiling isn’t something he’s seen very often and even if it is for the mission, he feels like he’s privileged to see it again. He can’t lose focus though, so he reins in his wandering mind and lets his gaze flick subtly to see that the man’s checking them out, running his lewd gaze all over them and their car. His hand is holding a phone and Hongjoong can see how he’s typing quickly, but not quick enough for him to figure that it’s their car’s number judging by the number of strokes. 

Hongjoong knew that Yunho had it handled so he isn’t worried. It’s a good reminder too, of how dangerous the ring was if they were checking_ everyone _ who visited the shop. The kind of resources they’d need for doing background checks on every customer, Hongjoong can imagine that it was made possible only because of the serious hold they had over higher-ups in the government.

No wonder the cops got caught, he thinks, apologetic even if their deaths had nothing to do with him. It makes a tiny tendril of anxiety take root in him too and he’s just glad that Wooyoung and San were safely away, well, as safe as it gets on a job. He’s a little guilty because it’s not just him who is involved, he had dragged Seonghwa into this dangerous game too, but he trusts their skills to get them through this unharmed. Perhaps, it’s too optimistic, but he thinks that they deserve it at this point.

"Three in the van,” Hongjoong whispers, covering Seonghwa’s hands on his face with his own and smiling at him even as he feels his face flush from the cold and the closeness. The smile he directs at Seonghwa is just to sell their cover more convincingly, but it ends up coming off a little_ too _genuine and it’s only Hongjoong’s stubborn refusal to collapse to the ground that keeps him standing upright. The trio in the van isn’t too professional, grunts, Hongjoong figures from reading into their body language. They aren’t very subtle about the stares too and the only reason why it took longer for Hongjoong to spot them is the angle that they’ve parked the van in. 

“Lackeys?” Seonghwa asks. The van is behind him and Seonghwa can’t turn around without raising suspicion, so Hongjoong nods and rubs a thumb over Seonghwa’s hands before he lets his hands fall.

“Let’s go in,” Seonghwa says, his gaze flicking all over the road as if they’re merely checking if the road is safe for crossing, but Hongjoong knows better than to take the gesture for what it visibly seems to be.

“Clear,” Seonghwa mumbles, holding his hand and strutting onward to the other side of the road, his other hand put up in a halting gesture at the incoming car even though it is a fair distance away.

“Clear,” Hongjoong repeats, sweeping his gaze over the side Seonghwa couldn’t look at without getting unwanted attention fixated on them.

The store, Bind us, is a lot more sophisticated than Hongjoong expects. In spite of all the information they gathered from the reports and the photographs taken by cops, seeing the purple and white letters glow in the quickly dimming light of the evening makes it feel all the more real. The windows are tinted a deep purple, fairy lights adorning the glass panels in the front. It's like a mood board come to life and Hongjoong assumes that it's fairly easy for the store to lure clients and create a regular clientele. It's not located in the busiest part of town and for good reason too, considering the kind of articles on sale. 

Seonghwa pushes open the door and keeps his hand on it for Hongjoong to step in. The cool air from the air conditioner sinks into Hongjoong's skin, but it isn't uncomfortable. He shrugs his pea coat off just as Seonghwa does the same, the woman, probably a sales assistant who is stationed near the door smiling at them as she approaches them. 

"Good evening, sir," she says, her eyes betraying her prim and proper attitude and her intention as they stray to the bruises on Hongjoong's wrists as she takes their coats and his beanie from them. Hongjoong feels satisfaction creeping on him at their plan coming to life so quickly. "How can I help you?" The woman is smiling, but all Hongjoong can notice is how fake it seems to be. There’s something lurking under her expression too, which is pleased at the possibility of yet another potential customer.

"We just wanted to look around and see if we can find something interesting," Hongjoong answers, eyes flicking over the racks of toys on display behind the woman in a display of curiosity which is almost entirely feigned. The woman's eyes twinkle as she smiles and leads the way with an outstretched arm.

Hongjoong is glad that he has rolled up the sleeves of his turtleneck because the receptionist behind the desk eyes his hands and sends a knowing look at the woman who is accompanying them. There's a nod of understanding which is exchanged between them. Seonghwa must see an opportunity to raise the potential to get their attention and really seal the deal because he twines his arm around Hongjoong's waist, his hand navigating up the bare skin by lifting up his sweater in a gesture of possessiveness. 

The woman, for lack of better words, _ leers _ at the grip.

"Would you like to check out our bondage section?"

Hongjoong nods in excitement and wiggles playfully out of the grip like a shy boyfriend would, really playing the part. Seonghwa loops their hands together and stays close to him as they wade through the racks of varieties of dildos and past flavoured lubes, the pink lighting slowly shifting to red as the sales assistant opens an ornate door inside the shop. 

It's insane, the amount of work that has gone into this part of the shop. The walls of this section of the store are a deep red velvet, the floor marble pure ivory with black and gold swirls, playing into the seductive appeal that they seem to be going for. There are multiple racks of various BDSM paraphernalia arranged neatly in the space. It makes sense once that part of his brain that's in awe catches up with the particular detail of how this is where victims were chosen solely because they made the wrong call, a wrong turn on a seemingly good day in an attempt to cater to a lifestyle choice they either wanted to try out for the first time or explore more aspects of, just to make things interesting. 

It’s a sad thought.

Hongjoong looks around, not being able to help how his attention is immediately stolen by the range of ropes and leather belts that hang from the velvet walls. 

The woman seems to notice how his attention strays and she navigates to the corner with the said articles.

"I think you'll like this particular section," she says, and it's said in a good-natured tone, but Hongjoong sees right through.

"I think he does," Seonghwa says, his lips turned into a smirk, fingers unlinking from Hongjoong's and relocating around the bruises on his wrist. "Don't you, baby?"

The term of endearment sets Hongjoong's nerve ends of fire, but he merely leans closer to Seonghwa and nods, whispering loud enough in a sultry voice, "I _ love _ it."

Hongjoong feels his hackles raise a little at the woman openly staring because as much as it is for grabbing her attention and the fact that he was open to a variety of kinks, he is aware that he doesn't harbour any voyeuristic tendencies. Judging by the subtle quirk in Seonghwa's body language, noticeable only due to how much attention he has paid to his partner, Hongjoong figures that Seonghwa isn't too comfortable either, but they don't have the privilege to ask her to politely fuck off when the entire mission rested on whether or not she'd give them a recommendation to their associated club. 

"I assume you're into bondage?" The woman suggests, her voice taking on a barely noticeable teasing tinge. The assumption is perhaps not something many clients will appreciate otherwise, but Seonghwa readily nods.

They're supposed to play the part of a couple who are amateurs on the scene so they aren't supposed to demand anything from her lest she considers against the recommendation they so desperately need. It would be stupid of them to react even in the slightest hostile manner because this was the only way they'd get an opportunity to visit the club and have access to the drugs and the ring's kingpins. The more complacent they are, the less they'll be expected to fight back so the pliancy is really only for their advantage. 

If the enemy was too big for you to fight on your own, the only thing left was for you to make them underestimate you. It was the only logic that could be used in this particular scenario. 

“Are you new to the scene?” She asks, an earnest expression on her face that could fool anyone but not them.

Hongjoong is pulled to Seonghwa’s side by a hand which finds its way over his waist, this time over his sweater. “We are,” Seonghwa says, turning his head to smile down at Hongjoong and continues, “I’ve wanted to try it out for a long time, but Hongjoong here, was a little nervous, weren’t you babe?” 

Hongjoong nods bashfully and says, “It’s a little too intense for my tastes, but I trust him and it was fun when we tried it out a couple of times. We don’t know enough to try out everything there is, so we figured it’ll be good to try out a shop and look at the options.”

The woman nods sympathetically like she can understand. “It’s brave of you to try it for him even if you aren’t too fond of the scene. I hope I can help find the perfect toys for you.”

And… strangely enough, she does. Her attitude is strictly professional, so professional that Hongjoong wonders if they’ve managed to fuck up the cover, but a closer look tells him that even though it looks like she’s devoted to helping them find their niche in the BDSM scene, she’s actually using the time as a trust-building experience, asking all the right questions and making it seem like she truly cares what the material used for tying Hongjoong up would be.

They end up choosing two kinds of ropes and a pair of handcuffs that Hongjoong raises a subtle but curious eyebrow at when Seonghwa picks it.

Hongjoong can feel the anxiety mount in association with the anticipation when Seonghwa pulls him by his wrist to the leather chokers on display. He picks a black one with a deep red jewel in the centre and thumbs it. “Do you like it?” He asks.

Hongjoong can feel the woman’s eyes on them as he nods vigorously and attaches himself to Seonghwa’s side. “It’s beautiful, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa smiles and turns to face the woman. “Can we try it on?”

“Of course!” She seems way too excited at the question, but Hongjoong doesn’t think anything of it, chalking it up to the fact maybe she hasn’t seen many gay couples visit the shop.

Seonghwa pulls down his turtleneck, eyes scanning the skin of his neck, the marks that he’d left the night before and says, “You bruise so well for me, babe.”

It’s not whispered in the air between them, said loud enough that the woman basically looks like she wants to get a pack of popcorn and watch them get it on then and there. As creeped out as Hongjoong is at the mental picture, he brushes it off for the sake of his future pursuits aka the mission.

Seonghwa clasps on the choker wordlessly and nods satisfyingly, taking it off and pulling the fabric of his sweater up to hide the hickeys mapping the skin.

The woman enquires if they’d like to look at something else and Seonghwa shakes his head.

It’s when they’re billing the items, Seonghwa handing in his card that the woman slinks from behind the counter and approaches them again.

“It’s probably not my place, but there’s a club here which specializes in the BDSM scene. There are people there who can teach you, help you find what you’re into,” she says, sounding like she genuinely cares and it’s a front, Hongjoong knows, but it’s a front she pulls off exceptionally well and if Hongjoong didn’t know better, he’d have believed her. He assumes that that’s what happened with the previous clients-turned-victims.

Seonghwa looks to him as if seeking permission and it’s only for the cover so Hongjoong nods as hesitantly as someone who wasn’t too interested in the scene would. The woman carefully monitors their interaction.

“I don’t want you to force yourself, babe,” Seonghwa says, looking at him with an almost apologetic expression.

“I’m not. We’ll check it out. It’s better than going in blind,” he assures, turning to face the woman and says, “We’re interested.”

That seems to be exactly what she wants to hear because she quickly provides the name of the club and rats off the directions. A few minutes later, they find themselves walking out of the shop with a bunch of things they don’t need and a visiting card of some guy who apparently owned the club tucked away inside Seonghwa’s coat.

Safe to say, Hongjoong concludes, phase one of the mission is a success.

***

The owner of the diner, a woman in her late fifties, smiles and waves at Hongjoong as he pushes open the door and steps inside, Seonghwa in tow. Hongjoong returns the wave and smiles at seeing the familiar face. The place is decently occupied as it generally tended to be during evenings. The last time Hongjoong visited was a month or so ago with San. Looking back now, a lot of things had happened since then.

Hongjoong watches Seonghwa throw a careful glance outside, watching the car that had been tailing them, park on the opposite side of the road.

"They stopped," Seonghwa says, sipping the water that Hongjoong pours for him.

"I figured they would," Hongjoong says, keeping his voice low. "They came around ten to our place. Parked outside the complex. It's a good thing that Yunho put up cameras on the other building. It's a good angle to set up surveillance."

Seonghwa nods and leans forward. "Ten is pretty late for if they really wanted to keep an eye on us. They probably didn't expect you to do work from home."

"Yeah," Hongjoong agrees. 

Seonghwa had gone to the office KQ had an ongoing deal with in order to make his cover as an accountant look more convincing. It was decided that he'd be following office hours during the course of the mission in order to stay away from suspicion. It wasn't like Seonghwa could claim he was an accountant and stay at home. Hongjoong's profile for the mission stated that he was an editor for a foreign publishing company, so he wasn't expected to be out there, working at an office. The cover had come together pretty well and if there were any issues, Hongjoong was certain that it would be nothing too beyond their payroll or what they could handle.

Hongjoong looks outside once again as subtly as he could. When he turns his neck and steals a glance at Seonghwa, there's a minuscule smile on his face. It's then that a thought crosses his mind, that he's never brought Seonghwa here before. It strikes him as odd too, but considering that he and Seonghwa hadn't been on even a normal talking basis two months ago, it isn't _ that _ odd.

It's a Sunday so Seonghwa had been the one who suggested that they go out and see if anyone follows them behind. If they seemed harmless enough, it was highly likely that the gang would call off their lookouts. Seonghwa hadn't decided on a place so Hongjoong had chosen it and here they were, roughly an hour later. It's a little too far from their new apartment, but Hongjoong had figured that if the lackeys decided to snoop around, the restaurant owner would give them a good recommendation. She was ex-KQ after all. Now that he thinks about it, perhaps, he figures that a text message would make things clearer. 

Hongjoong shifts in his seat and takes his phone out, thumbing out a quick message. He leans back as the owner turns her head and subtly tilts her head in confirmation that she'll follow through. 

Hongjoong drags the menu to him before he decides against it and gives it to Seonghwa. He's been coming here for so long that he doesn't even need the menu to order so it really doesn't matter much, but Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at him. 

"You know this place," Seonghwa says, the menu under his hands.

Hongjoong can't help the laugh that bubbles from within. "Obviously. Did you think I really made you drive seven miles to a random hole in the wall place I never visited?"

Seonghwa's blank face is answer enough.

"Wow," Hongjoong exclaims, but it's only meant to be teasing.

"In my defense, I thought you wanted the people who were tailing us to waste some gas." Seonghwa flicks through the menu when Hongjoong just laughs. 

"You have a nice laugh," Seonghwa comments a little later like it’s a delayed response after they've ordered japchae, bulgogi, and chicken fried rice, all dishes Hongjoong recommends. 

Hongjoong is caught off guard so he puts a palm over his mouth in order to hide his mouth. He doesn't know what comes over Seonghwa because he leans over and tugs his hand away with a small smile. 

Hongjoong feels a blush creep up the side of his face, but he ignores it, chalking it up as a necessity for the proper functioning of his cognitive faculties. He wants to thank him too, but he doesn't think he can do it with a straight face so he sends a wordless apology to him and a soft smile in his direction.

They eat in silence. The only actual interaction they have is when Hongjoong wraps pieces of bulgogi in lettuce and gives it to Seonghwa after seeing the other struggle with the leaf, antsy probably from not having eaten out too frequently. And before they know it, they're done with the food. Hongjoong is so full he thinks Seonghwa might have to drag him home.

Seonghwa stares intensely for a moment at him before he flicks it away to the patterned ceiling.

"Hongjoong, can I ask you something?"

Hongjoong sets the water down, nodding, body still reeling from how full he feels.

When Seonghwa speaks next, his voice is lower than before, like whatever he is about to say deserves to be heard only by them and not anyone else. "You said… you said you like it when your partner was on top," Hongjoong blanches, he was hoping that Seonghwa wouldn't notice, much less ask about it, especially now, but Seonghwa continues, "then, why'd you want to.. you know.." if he wasn't under close scrutiny, Hongjoong might have saved this moment of a flustered Seonghwa away for the future, but as such he is too nervous to do that, "why'd you want to ride me?"

A part of Hongjoong immediately colors at the thought of the night, but it's a serious question so Hongjoong tries to rein himself in. He wonders if he should lie, but in the end, he decides against it. His brain is a twisted little thing though, so it asks something else before it decides to grace Seonghwa with an answer.

"Are you asking because you didn't get to top until later?" Hongjoong hates how he sounds defensive when it's merely a thought that's been plaguing him for a long time. 

Seonghwa looks like he regrets initiating this conversation and Hongjoong wants to disintegrate into dust so that he can forget how disappointed Seonghwa looks.

"I prefer to be on top, but that's because I don't like to tire my partner out. So no, I'm not asking because I didn't get to top you in the beginning. I just wanted to know."

It's so interesting to see Seonghwa clarify even if it is through gritted teeth. They're talking about sex, but the flustered Seonghwa who had been hesitant to initiate this conversation from moments ago is long gone. Like, suddenly he doesn't care about anything, except the fact that Hongjoong would misunderstand him if he doesn't explain himself.

Perhaps, an apology is in order, Hongjoong thinks.

"I'm sorry, Seonghwa." Hongjoong twists the glass on the table, feeling guilty all of a sudden. "It wasn't my intention to be defensive. I just… I just wanted to make it good for you that night."

Seonghwa's eyes widen at the confession. Hongjoong wants to curl up into a ball and stop himself from being so transparent, but he knows he can't. He already hides so much away and it's just sex, so he hopes Seonghwa doesn't suddenly decide to keep a distance and run even farther away than where he had been when they began. 

"You wanted…" Seonghwa inhales deeply, "to make it good for _ me _?"

Hongjoong nods.

"Hongjoong, you don't have to try to make _anything_ _good_ for _me_." He sounds like Hongjoong has just told him that the sun is a hologram and that they're all robots who run on nuclear energy. The way Seonghwa finds it so unbelievable that Hongjoong might care about his pleasure, the sheer incredulity he seems to sense in the situation, all of it is like a bullet that grazes Hongjoong's skin, not lethal but enough to give him trauma to last a lifetime had he been sensitive to such things. 

Seonghwa looks like he's about to tear the world apart at just the thought. The hurt trickles slowly down Hongjoong's throat like slow poison. Maybe not enough to kill him now, but certainly enough for later if it continues. But with pain comes anger as it does whenever Hongjoong was involved in situations similar to this. 

"What? Is it so hard to believe that anyone would care for you, Seonghwa? That anyone would want to think about making you happy? To put you first?"

His words are sharp, but Hongjoong keeps his expression neutral because he knows that they still have eyes on them and maybe the lackeys of the gang are too far away for them to see their faces clearly, even then, Hongjoong doesn't want to take chances. 

Seonghwa looks like he's just been slapped and Hongjoong hates the tell-tale prickle of tears because he isn't this sensitive, but Seonghwa turns him into an emotional conundrum and no matter how much he tries to keep the sensation from welling up, it's like it has a mind of its own. 

"Maybe It isn't," Seonghwa says, "it isn't hard to believe that you or anyone would care for me, but I wish you won't because…. because it's not good for you, Hongjoong. I'm the guillotine that constantly hangs over your shoulder and if you want to save yourself, you should just keep away. You should learn to stop caring for me. The people around me, they're _ never _ safe. That's just how it is."

Seonghwa sounds like he's tearing himself apart from the inside, like he's holding onto nothing, like it hurts, but like something forces him to say this anyway because he's scared beyond belief. But as much as Hongjoong trusts Seonghwa, he is an adult and if caring for Seonghwa means consequences, Hongjoong is prepared to face them as they come.

"I have no clue where this is coming from, Seonghwa. But I'm old enough to make my own decisions. We're partners, this is just how it is going to be. Either that or you do the same to me, you stop caring too. Do that and maybe I'll consider."

Hongjoong has no intention to reconsider this particular matter, but it’s said only because he’s so certain of Seonghwa’s response. Seonghwa looks like he wants to throw up at the mere insinuation of it and Hongjoong wonders why someone caring for him is so unattainable a prospect for him. He doesn't want to make baseless assumptions so he just keeps his fingers crossed that Seonghwa doesn't try to keep the conversation going because he doesn't see it ending anywhere else except in a fight, and fighting with Seonghwa is not something Hongjoong wants to do. 

Not right now and if he had a say in it, not ever.

Hongjoong doesn't like that he's given Seonghwa an ultimatum, one he instinctively knows is impossible for Seonghwa to keep up and maybe, he's being cruel, but he also knows that Seonghwa wouldn't listen otherwise, so he holds on stubbornly. 

Seonghwa looks away in a clear admission of failure.

Hongjoong doesn't feel the victory in his bones though, but there's no time to let his brain toss the thought around and dissect it because the waiter comes and slides the bill folder to them. Seonghwa picks it up.

"Shall we?" Seonghwa asks, posture tense, but no emotion is betrayed on his face.

Hongjoong nods, the satisfaction of having had a good meal dying out in the face of anger and a swirling waterspout of emotions he can't quite tell apart at having disappointed Seonghwa.

They're paying the bill at the counter because their waiter hadn’t returned to grab the folder and Hongjoong doesn't know what comes over him because he slides his hands to reach Seonghwa's. There's no reason behind the touch. Absolutely none. The counter is placed so far away from the entrance that even if the lookouts wanted to see what they were doing, visibility would be close to zero. 

Hongjoong has no rationale to justify the gesture. It should irk him, how his hands have seemingly made a mind of its own. But it doesn't.

Seonghwa's gaze drops down to his hand with a questioning look, but he doesn't move to loop their hands together. Regret is instant and Hongjoong almost flinches at the intensity of the look Seonghwa's levels at him and he removes his hand like he's been burned. Seonghwa, however, seems to not be intending for Hongjoong to pull away because he places a hand on Hongjoong's waist and pulls him close to his side in what feels almost like an apology.

The woman at the counter looks inquisitively at the newfound lack of space between them even as she gropes around in the drawer for change. She makes eye contact with Hongjoong and smiles encouragingly at him. 

"I'm sorry," Hongjoong mumbles, not caring much for how the customers at the restaurant are glancing at them too. Seonghwa merely holds him tighter before he lets him go, but not before Hongjoong feels a ghost of a kiss pressed on his head.

They're just about to leave, walking quietly towards the entrance when they are approached by two girls who are giggling way too much for Hongjoong to not be immediately suspicious. Seonghwa pulls him to the side so that they can leave and Hongjoong feels the warmth that Seonghwa exudes right down to his core. 

But the girls stop walking just as they do. One of them schools her face into a smile and it's clear from how they turn around that they have something to say to them. Seonghwa's grip on his waist tightens imperceptibly. 

"We're sorry, but you guys are so cute together! Are you dating?" Her voice is a sorry attempt at whispering, turning out to sound more like whisper-shouting. The other girl butts in and says, "You don't have to tell us. We just.. thought you were cute together.”

Hongjoong’s first defense is to deny, but Seonghwa steps in before he can and says, “It’s alright. We are dating.”

Hongjoong barely keeps his expression from morphing to one of pure shock at the confirmation. 

The girls giggle again and it’s cute, how they went out of their way to let them know, especially considering how there were still people around who thought that being gay was a crime. They seem super young too, maybe highschoolers, Hongjoong thinks. 

“We’re all rooting for couples like you. Have a great day!” The other girl excitedly says, fist-pumping the air in palpable happiness.

Seonghwa’s arm around Hongjoong’s waist feels like a permanent fixture at this point, but Hongjoong doesn’t complain as Seonghwa thanks the girls.

They’re gone before Hongjoong can add anything to the conversation, but Seonghwa gives him a look that is equal parts confusion and surprise.

“What?” Hongjoong asks, staying a little too still in Seonghwa’s arm, suddenly conscious that they’re still hovering at the diner’s entrance. Seonghwa loosens his grip on Hongjoong’s waist and pulls the door open, traipsing outside in the direction of their car. Hongjoong wants to mourn the loss of the warm touch, but he’s also grateful because his heart is threatening to beat out of his chest at all the small touches.

Hongjoong hovers near the car with a firm hand tugging on the sleeve of Seonghwa’s coat, curiosity getting the better of him. Seonghwa lets out a long-suffering sigh, pointedly gazing at Hongjoong’s fingers as if his mind is coming to terms with this particular development.

“You freeze up when you’re shy,” Seonghwa states, like Hongjoong’s a science experiment that’s under observation.

“Can you stop making compliments sound like that, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong begs and it’s easy to forget that they’d been fighting over a serious issue mere minutes ago, but that’s just the way they are so he isn’t surprised. Their moments of banter are new, but as novel as they were, Hongjoong finds them precious and judging from how Seonghwa hasn’t directed his death glare at him to get him to stop, he figures that he enjoys it too.

“Like what?” Seonghwa asks, pretend-curiosity on his face.

“You know what,” Hongjoong counters.

“Do I?” Seonghwa says, like he’s considering the thought before a small smile overtakes his face and he opens the door to sit in the driver’s seat.

Hongjoong has known Seonghwa for over ten months, ten months spent reading into every gesture he made, cross analyzing every word he said. He has had countless opportunities to observe him, from near and far, in the midst of gunfire and dagger fights and close combat. He’s taken advantage of all of these moments but _ this _ , these words uttered just for the sake of it, of not dwelling on every sign made and its intention, this is so _ new _ that Hongjoong falters physically as the door gives way under his hand.

It’s a minute later, when Seonghwa shifts gears and pulls out of the parking lot that Hongjoong really comes to terms with what Seonghwa has just done.

It's a ground-breaking realization.

Seonghwa had just _ flirted _ with him on a _ not-date _.

Hongjoong wishes he can just take it in stride and be calm about it, but there's the audible sound of a crack and Hongjoong doesn't know how long he has before Seonghwa breaks it all down with his own hands.

For a petrifying moment, all Hongjoong wants is to freeze time and stay in this limbo of push and pull because he's beyond terrified thinking about that one time when Seonghwa would push him away and not pull him back again, an inevitability which makes him want to hide away and never see the light of day.

***

It’s half-past seven in the evening and Hongjoong is blow-drying his hair, regretting the shower he took minutes ago when Seonghwa knocks on the open door. Hongjoong switches off the blow dryer, the mechanical whirr resounding in his head even after it is off. He turns his head to look at Seonghwa, one hand still fiddling with his hair and its parting which he’s sure he has messed up somehow. The red dye job and the maintenance products to keep the dye locked had fully changed the texture of his hair and it’s a pain every time he needs to style it these days. Seonghwa looks at him expectantly from the threshold.

What Hongjoong first registers is that Seonghwa is shirtless. He has a pair of black jeans on, but his upper body is devoid of clothing, various scars of all shapes and sizes on display. 

It’s nothing he hasn’t seen yet so Hongjoong doesn’t know why he has to bite down on his tongue to keep the gasp of surprise from escaping him.

“Are you going to keep staring or are you going to ask me to come in?” 

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Hongjoong absentmindedly waves at the other to come inside.

“Did you run out of shirts or something, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong asks and in the incandescence of the tube light in the room, all the bruises and scars on Seonghwa’s skin is clear to him. Like looking at the clear water and seeing the fishes traverse the ripples. There’s a particularly deep one on his ribs which Hongjoong remembers from when he had run his hands over his torso a couple of days ago. He instinctively looks for it even as he pretends to be distracted by his hair.

Hongjoong has his own share of scars too, but he doesn’t think he has these many. It’s a strange thing to keep in mind, that they’re both doing the same job but have largely different marks to show for it. A closer look has told him before, in their first tryst with each other that they’re older scars, way older than ten months or more. It’s a little calming to know that maybe Seonghwa is safer with him, as safe as it could be for him when they didn’t have a break from putting their lives out on the line, every victory they bag seeming merely to be the work of blind luck and nothing else.

“I didn’t,” Seonghwa says and he closes the distance between them. His black hair is styled, parted to the side and making him look a lot more younger than he is, but there’s an edge to his face which betrays maturity. Seonghwa lifts his hand to pat down Hongjoong’s hair and moves the strands with his fingers, not stepping back even when he is seemingly satisfied with how Hongjoong looks. “I need help covering these,” Seonghwa says, pointing at the intricate web of scars on his chest.

Hongjoong had been thinking of asking Seonghwa about them anyway because if they were going to be asked to get naked and do the dirty as some pretentious prick bossed them around, the last thing they needed was for them to notice the unnatural amount of scars on them. Hongjoong had covered his scars up before he dressed up, keeping in mind the advice he had gotten from Wooyoung and Hwanwoong, glad that his little run to the mall with Wooyoung before he left for the mission had ended with the younger picking out the right coverup products for him.

Hongjoong lets out a soft_ ah _ of understanding and puts one finger in the air in a gesture asking Seonghwa to wait, the other nodding in response.

Hongjoong squeezes some primer and concealer and gets to work, patting the makeup on with brushes and tapping with his fingers where need be. Wooyoung had mentioned that it was heavy-duty makeup, waterproof too, and Hongjoong hoped that the brands lived up to their reputation. He didn’t want to make Seonghwa pull out and start shooting at the staff in the club while being buck naked just because their scars blew their cover.

“You smell good,” Seonghwa says, out of the blue after a not-so-subtle sniff and Hongjoong’s just so tired of the other dropping compliments like they’re observations, but he is weak, so he blushes.

“Why do you have to say it like that, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong is aware that he sounds like he is whining, but he _ is, _ in fact, _ whining, _ so he figures that Seonghwa will have to make do.

“Like what?” Seonghwa asks in a tone reminiscent of how he’d asked the same thing during the day.

“You know what? Forget it,” Hongjoong huffs, frustrated, aggressively patting makeup, Seonghwa’s eyes tracking his movements.

“Did you cover up yours?” Seonghwa asks sometime later, tilting his gaze down to make eye contact with Hongjoong, a barely-there touch of his hand on Hongjoong’s waist.

Hongjoong nods, patting his fingers on Seonghwa’s pectoral to cover a particularly large mark where skin had knit together but left an indent anyway. Seonghwa catches his wrist, making Hongjoong stop.

“Don’t cover this. My profile says I enlisted early anyway. It’s alright to leave out some scars.”

Hongjoong eyed the scar for a moment more, frowning to himself, before he shifted his gaze to look at Seonghwa’s hand which was still gently holding his wrist.

“Your hands are always so cold,” Hongjoong says, pulling away from the other and shoving the makeup items inside the drawer of his dressing table.

“Bad circulation,” Seonghwa says, rubbing his hands together like he wants to heat them up.

Hongjoong hums in understanding, running his hand through his hair, feeling the strands bounce right back onto his forehead on either side. Seonghwa shifts his feet and stares at the ground like he’s on the verge of zoning out.

“Is it uncomfortable?” Seonghwa asks, the slightly cocky and teasing attitude from before disappearing into the air.

Hongjoong frowns to himself, confused. “Is what uncomfortable, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa rubs his hands together again.

“When I touch you with my hands.”

Hongjoong shakes his head immediately. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. I just mentioned it because I’ve noticed that they tend to be a little on the colder side,” Hongjoong says, but he feels like Seonghwa doesn’t look entirely convinced so he follows up with, “And for what it’s worth, it’s _ never _ uncomfortable with you, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa looks up again, an unreadable expression on his face.

“And you know what they say about cold hands?” Hongjoong asks, readying himself for judgment.

“What?” Seonghwa tilts his head curiously looking like a kitten and Hongjoong laughs at the analogy internally because he had just compared one of the deadliest men in the world to a harmless little creature, but it doesn’t seem too out of place so he runs with it.

“Warm heart,” Hongjoong says. “People with cold hands are said to have warm hearts.”

It’s slow, the minuscule smile that spreads on Seonghwa’s face, but Hongjoong tucks that into a corner of his heart and smiles back.

It’s a good feeling.

***

The guard at the entrance is incredibly rude until Seonghwa hands him the red sparkly visiting card. It’s borderline hilarious, the way the man’s expression does a total one-eighty. He apologizes profusely, blabbering on about how it’s a sensitive scene and how creeps were always trying to get in without invitation. It seems to come from good intentions, but Hongjoong knows about every single person who has died from their little attempt to popularize a drug which was not just expensive but also addictive and lethal and he has no sympathies for the man’s inevitable end. Hongjoong smiles shyly at the man, hating the way his crude gaze lingers on him before Seonghwa notices and whisks him away inside with a respectful wave thrown at the man.

“What a creep,” Hongjoong murmurs under his breath. It’s not intended for Seonghwa’s ears, but the other hears it even under the music that thrums in the hallway leading to the main hall.

“Want me to go deck him?” Seonghwa is in his assault mode as he asks it.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but we’re here for a reason, Seonghwa. We’ll see to him when we’re done,” Hongjoong assures, following Seonghwa as the other nods and walks forward with long strides.

There’s another pair of men stationed outside the main hall and Hongjoong feels roving eyes over him, but he clings to Seonghwa’s biceps and smiles goodnaturedly. They are asked to show the card again and as they inspect the piece of laminated paper, Hongjoong catches the two guns shoved inside their boot, the gun in their pant pockets and the knife that seems to jut out even from under their blazer, the silhouette of the sharp object clear even in the dim light in the hallway.

Seonghwa seems to have come to the same conclusion because he flicks his glance at the men in warning, but Hongjoong merely nods as subtly as he can.

“You can go in,” the guard says, handing the card back to them.

To be honest, Hongjoong doesn’t know what he’s expecting when they walk in. It’s definitely not a young man getting rammed into by a buff and older man on a well-lit platform with flashing lights. There are people openly jerking off, hands running over their crotches and men and women who are being fingered and fucked on the tables and chairs in front of the stage, a popular sex song playing and accentuated by the pornographic moans of the many people who are getting off in public without restraint.

When Eden said voyeurism, Hongjoong thinks, he really _ did _ mean it. Also, it’s a fetish club so Hongjoong doesn’t know why he still feels a little intimidated at the scene in front of them.

Seonghwa tenses beside him, but his eyes betray no judgement as he looks over the room.

“Newbies,” a baritone voice whispers right behind Hongjoong’s ear and Seonghwa pulls him to his side with an arm on his waist at the intrusion.

The man is young, maybe a few years older than them at best. He has sharp features and his makeup speaks of experience, his black and blonde hair long and braided, the braid resting on one side of his chest. He is dressed in a deep red silk button up and he bats his heavily made up eyes, the fake lashes fluttering. Maybe it would be enough to fool anyone else, but the man’s a dom through and through and better yet, his posture betrays that he is trained in the martial arts.

Hongjoong immediately knows why their victims didn’t survive without bruises and cuts. The man looked thin and he was shorter than Seonghwa. As someone who was built small, Hongjoong figures that the man got underestimated a lot for his size. 

Hongjoong wouldn’t make that mistake.

The man looks at the lack of space between them and smirks wolfishly. His gaze strays to Seonghwa like he’s sizing him up and laughs when Seonghwa’s grip on Hongjoong’s waist takes on a more possessive tone.

“Interesting,” he trills, twisting his braid around his index finger demurely. “I’m Jinho. Welcome to Bonded,” he says, smiling widely enough that his canines are in display, lips stretching dangerously.

“I’m Seonghwa and this is Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, introducing them, his tone civil.

“Married?” Jinho asks, voice dipped in curiosity.

Hongjoong wills a blush to take up his face and says, “No, we’re not there yet.”

“You might as well put a ring on it. Your man doesn’t look like he’s willing to share, Hongjoong,” Jinho says, his voice sultry even as he rolls his tongue around the syllables of Hongjoong’s name, looking at Seonghwa like he’s very amused. “Which brings me to my question, how can I help you?”

As per the plan, Seonghwa takes over. “We’re not sure if you can actually.”

Jinho looks like Seonghwa has just committed heresy in his domain as he shakes his head. “And why is that, sweetheart?”

Seonghwa’s jaw locks before he speaks again. Hongjoong mentally applauds his partner’s acting skills. “We’re not into voyeurism and this place,” Seonghwa looks around the space with a raised eyebrow, “seems to be all about that.”

“Oh darling,” the man steps forward into their space, “We have private rooms for training our customers. _ All _ your needs will be catered to.”

Seonghwa doesn’t look entirely like he’s convinced so Jinho makes a gesture with his hand at Hongjoong, clearly sensing that Hongjoong’s the supposed pliant one of the two and is convinced by the situation.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong calls and he turns to face him, “maybe we should give this a go. You’re the one who wanted to try this out. Some guidance would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Jinho’s staring unabashedly and Hongjoong tilts his head up to press a kiss to Seonghwa’s lips. It’s not part of the plan, but Seonghwa plays along, taking it in stride.

“There’s no pressure. You can walk out right now if you aren’t interested,” Jinho’s voice drops lower as he whispers before he leans into Seonghwa’s personal space again, “But don’t you want to make him scream your name like he’s never done before, _ Seonghwa _?”

Seonghwa ponders for a long moment before he nods curtly. That seems to be the only permission the man needs because he beckons them with a finger and a whispered, “Follow me.”

It’s so strange to Hongjoong, how people are so occupied in each other’s business alone, like they gave zero fucks as to whether or not someone was getting railed right next to them or not. Jinho seems to know everyone they pass, intimately, because he waves and shakes hands and goes so far as to ruffle the hair of a man giving a blowjob. 

It’s easier to scope Jinho out for if he has weapons on him or not when they’re following him. Except for the tell-tale bulge of a phone in the back pocket of his tight jeans and a bunch of keys, he doesn’t seem to have anything on him.

Either he is stupid or he is strong.

Hongjoong assumes that it is a careful and lethal combination of both.

The hallway they walk down is narrower than the one that led to the main hall. Seonghwa stays unusually close to him, but Hongjoong knows that it’s just because of his tendency to be hyper-aware of surroundings in unfamiliar terrains. There’s a scream of pleasure as they pass a room and Jinho clicks his tongue.

“Ignore that. Jiwon always makes the clients scream loud.”

Hongjoong nods and lets a little apprehension creep on his face. Jinho makes a sharp turn and procures a bunch of keys from his pocket, looking through them carefully before he hums as he presumably finds the right one and opens the door.

The room is huge, especially considering how narrow the hallway was. It has a high ceiling, purple light from the strategically placed lamps shrouding them. Hongjoong feels euphoric inside because the colored lighting isn’t optimal for visibility and the makeup on their skin will be even less noticeable like this, not like it is noticeable anyway until someone gets up and close and personal.

Hongjoong gasps in fake awe.

Jinho preens at the sound. “Impressed?”

“Very,” Hongjoong replies.

The large bed in the middle of the room has satin sheets on them and Jinho gestures for them to sit down. 

“So, first things first, I can see it already, but I hate assuming so here goes, who doms?”

Hongjoong blushes and ducks his head.

“I do,” Seonghwa says, his hand traversing up Hongjoong’s spine and rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Not surprised,” Jinho laughs, tracking the way Seonghwa’s hand is moving and continues, “What have you tried so far? What do you like? Any pet peeves? Turnoffs?”

“We’ve tried some bondage,” Hongjoong says, tugging his long sleeves so that the marks are visible, fading but there. “Other than that, we don’t really know much to try things out. Porn helped, but everything just seems uh…”

“Intimidating,” Seonghwa finishes for him. “Hongjoong’s not really into the scene, but he agreed when I asked," Seonghwa explains.

Jinho makes an approving sound. “It’s rare to get partners who’d do that for you. How long have you been together?”

Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa only to see him already looking at him. He intertwines their fingers and lets out a content sigh, “Nine years, this year.”

Jinho laughs, the sound echoing in the room. “No wonder. You look like a married couple.”

Hongjoong wants to laugh because the way Jinho is bluffing so seriously while they know what they're here for is a funny little thing. The incredulity of the gesture also keeps him away from the fact that this man, who is clearly a master of reading body language, has been fooled by them, that he believes that they have the intimacy worth nine years, worth that of a couple who has known each other for a lifetime, that he's arrived at this conclusion minutes after their introduction.

"So, I assume both of you won't be averse to trying some more bondage?" 

Seonghwa looks to him for approval and at Hongjoong's nod, he verbally confirms. 

"We'd rather you not…" Hongjoong trails off. It's part of the plan, but it's also in their selfish interests because Hongjoong had told Seonghwa that he'd rather not be touched by anyone else in such a sensitive scene if he could help it.

Jinho giggles again. "You're cute, Hongjoong. I won't lay a hand on you."

Seonghwa drags an assuring hand over his back, meant to soothe the tension coiling his muscles.

"Safewords?"

"We don't have one. We just use the traffic light system," Seonghwa states.

"Good enough. Use it if it gets too much for you." Jinho's voice is serious like he's actually concerned about safewords and boundaries when his intentions spelt out danger in neon letters to them.

"Take his shirt off," Jinho says, power dripping from his voice and it's easy to see why he is a dom in spite of his thin and unimposing figure.

Seonghwa turns to face him, a hand on his neck on which Hongjoong leans his head as the other unbuttons his shirt single-handedly. 

Jinho's gaze is intrusive and observant. It's clear to Hongjoong that he's not playing around anymore.

This isn't conventional BDSM education. Most establishments made the Doms submit before the trainer, but Hongjoong knows that the place they're at isn't conventional at all to say the least. He isn't complaining though, because having Seonghwa do something like that seemed wrong, especially when he had visible issues with control.

Jinho's voice leads Seonghwa through the motions of foreplay as Seonghwa's tongue dips into Hongjoong's mouth and tastes him like he's a drink that he's never had before. It's not that Seonghwa needs directions for foreplay and when he voices it, Jinho laughs.

"I know you don't need my permission to kiss your boyfriend, Seonghwa, but BDSM is all about control, about following orders, about learning to give them. I'm not _ domming _ you. I'm _ teaching _ you to listen to him. By listening to me and doing the exact same things I ask of you, you're learning how he'll feel when he submits," Jinho pauses and smiles, continuing, "I presume that he submits easily. You have to know enough about following instructions so that you don't take advantage of him when he's lost in subspace if and when he reaches there."

It's pretty sound advice, but it's coming from an apprentice to multiple murders, so the overall value of it is tainted.

Jinho moves to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and returns with a long rope.

"Have you heard of shibari?"

The question rings in the room. Seonghwa nods, catching the rope as Jinho throws it to him.

"We'll try that today," Jinho announces. "Ask him to lay on his stomach, it'll make it easier for him and you," Jinho instructs Seonghwa.

_ Lay on his stomach. Shibari. _

It's a slow realization that his hands will be tied behind his back.

Hongjoong freezes because he can't do this. It's one of the two things he _ can't _ do. Hongjoong feels his heart pound in his chest, sweat starting to gather on his forehead and he wants Seonghwa to look at him so that he can tell Seonghwa that he can tie him any way he wants, just _ not _ with his hands behind his back. 

Seonghwa though, stares at Jinho as if he's considering something, his arm that isn't supporting his weight on the bed, rubbing the skin of Hongjoong's neck. 

"He doesn't like it when his hands are tied behind his back. Can we do it like this?" Seonghwa asks, looking back to Hongjoong and leaning down to kiss him. Hongjoong rakes his blunt nails on Seonghwa's back in a gesture of gratitude for remembering his words from _ months ago _.

Jinho carefully looks at them before he nods. "That's fine," he says flippantly.

Seonghwa presses a kiss against Hongjoong's neck, nipping at the skin for a moment that Hongjoong wants to stretch for all its worth, whining for show when he pulls away. Jinho's laughter is a repetitive sound in the wake of the lingering ache of the bite Seonghwa leaves on his neck.

Seonghwa twists the rope around his wrists first, but it's not as tight as it was two days ago, and Hongjoong thinks it's intentional, going by how Seonghwa had sneaked in a finger under his wrist when he tightened the knot to not leave as many bruises on his already delicate skin. Hongjoong wouldn't have minded. It was a mission after all. But the gesture is appreciated nonetheless.

Jinho's voice fades into the background with every knot that Seonghwa tightens as Hongjoong sinks into the rhythmic patterns that go around and above his body, the cool pads of Seonghwa's fingers brushing against his skin every now and then, making him moan. 

Seonghwa goads him on with praises and approving sounds as he pliantly twists every which way Seonghwa asks him to, his eyes looking straight at Seonghwa and how concentrated he is. 

His heart beats rapidly, breath quickening, but despite it, he feels himself become calmer with every pattern created over his body. It's a strange and pleasant feeling, but it's nothing as intense as when Seonghwa had gathered him in his arms with his hands tied up using a rope garrote days ago. Seonghwa had asked him to pretend to lose himself and to resolutely keep in control no matter what he did because giving in to the pleasure wasn't something they could afford to do in this unfamiliar place. Hongjoong had heeded his advice. He smiles blissfully at the purple-lit ceiling and to Jinho, he figures it might look like he's entering subspace territory and that'll work to their advantage, but really, Hongjoong is just pleased at how close Seonghwa is to him. 

"Is it good?" Seonghwa whispers and it's like they're in their apartment again without someone standing and staring at them and instructing them on how to navigate each other's bodies when they don't need it at all.

Hongjoong shudders violently at his voice. "So good, Seonghwa," he moans, trapped as he is under the intricate and layered webbing of the ropes.

"You're doing great, baby," Seonghwa coos as he pulls at the rope and tightens another knot. Hongjoong wants to lean up and kiss him and he would have, but his shoulders are already locked up.

Seonghwa fumbles a lot, noticeably so, but Jinho's voice is a constant one that drones on, correcting every knot that Seonghwa messes up, patiently guiding him.

Hongjoong can feel how aroused he is, adrenaline pumping in his veins, the lighting and Seonghwa's proximity not helping matters much. His eyes roll to the back as Seonghwa ties a knot around his crotch. His senses are hypersensitive and there's a plea at the tip of his tongue which he shuts down vehemently. 

"He's beautiful like this, isn't he?" Jinho asks, his hands folded in front of his chest.

Seonghwa turns his head to look at the man with a displeased look.

"If only looks could kill," Jinho sing-songs. "How are you feeling, Hongjoong?" He asks, meeting Hongjoong's half-faked dazed gaze.

"It's so _ fucking _ good," Hongjoong mumbles, whining when Seonghwa leans down to kiss his neck.

Jinho walks to the bedside table and opens the drawer, taking out condoms and lube, handing them to Seonghwa who eyes the items suspiciously.

"What? You like doing it raw?" He questions, slightly thrown off. 

Seonghwa takes the lube and says, "What if I do?"

Jinho pointedly raises an eyebrow at how Seonghwa doesn't take the condom and smirks. He is clearly finding this entertaining because he breaks into a laugh again. Hongjoong is vaguely reminded of joker's cackles from back when San had a DC phase in college and they’d marathoned all the animated DC movies for months. 

"What do you see in him, Hongjoong?" Jinho asks, tone playful.

Hongjoong's eyes find Seonghwa's. "Everything," he whispers, choking on his breath when Seonghwa leans in and kisses the last word from his mouth. Jinho's laugh fades into a smile at the answer.

"Woah, easy there, tiger," Jinho says when Seonghwa bites hard on his neck and Hongjoong moans, loud and clear. Seonghwa detaches his lips at the intrusion. 

"I'll stay back and watch you. Try fingering him without untying the rope," Jinho tells Seonghwa and turns to Hongjoong. "And you, if it gets too much, use the safeword. It's there for a reason."

Seonghwa's fingers are cold as they press inside him and Hongjoong can do nothing but gape, jaw dropping at the sudden spike in sensation. It's intense, how he fingers him this time. They've only done this once, but the way Seonghwa navigates his body is like they've been doing nothing but this for ages.

Jinho adds a comment here and there, to better guide Seonghwa to find the perfect positions for Hongjoong's pleasure. Hongjoong can feel his stomach cramping from clenching it and holding his breath to chase an orgasm as Seonghwa's long fingers probe inside him. Seonghwa pauses, poking his head around Hongjoong's legs and presses a kiss near his knees before he turns to face Jinho.

"I'm going to untie him," he says.

Hongjoong blinks lazily, exhausted from how taxing this has been on his body. He's still hard, his cock leaking precum on his stomach, but the ropes are digging in everywhere and even if Seonghwa hasn't tightened them as they could be, they're still tight enough to hurt if he tries to stretch or get rid of them.

"Why?" Jinho asks and Hongjoong realizes that this was a test. An initial session to be this intense, he'd thought that this was how things were done here, but it apparently wasn't. 

Seonghwa doesn't miss a beat. "Because he's in pain."

Seonghwa doesn't say anything more as he unties the rope. He presses kisses to every inch of his skin where the knots had dug in and created indents that were certain to turn into bruises which had already started blooming over his thighs and ribs where the ropes had dug in.

"Lesson one, boys. Always be aware of what your partner is feeling," Jinho states, "but you guys already know that. Come back on Wednesday evening. We'll try something else then."

Hongjoong collapses against the pillow with a moan that is equal parts pain and pleasure. 

"How do we pay you?" Seonghwa asks.

"We don't charge for the first session. Come back on Wednesday and we'll discuss payment," Jinho says, and pauses before continuing,"He's still wound up. The room's free for another two hours. You can live it up if you want or take rest instead." 

Jinho closes the door behind him as he leaves. 

Hongjoong feels tears gather in his eyes and he cuddles closer to Seonghwa who puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him to his side. 

"Cameras," Hongjoong mouths just under Seonghwa's armpit. He'd been wanting to let Seonghwa know for a while, not sure if he'd noticed the cameras placed all over the room.

Seonghwa shifts, leaning down and pecking Hongjoong, mouthing, "I saw," on his lips. 

It's like they both arrive at the conclusion that having sex at this point would be overkill so they just stay lying next to each other. Hongjoong wonders if this is what he missed when he walked away the first time they had sex. It's a thought that brings an ache which lodges sharply in his chest.

Seonghwa supports his weight on his elbow and leans up. Hongjoong's already naked, but it's under Seonghwa's scrutinizing gaze that is directed at him now that he feels like he has no clothes on.

"You're okay?" Seonghwa's face is etched with worry.

"I am," Hongjoong mumbles, leaning up to tug Seonghwa into a kiss which quickly turns heated as Hongjoong traces his hands over Seonghwa's shirtless torso. The rough fabric of his jeans rub against Hongjoong's bare thighs and he hisses at the contact. 

Seonghwa pulls him into his lap in one calculated move so that he can rest on his lap and not move around so much. Hongjoong is prepared so he goes willingly into it and lets Seonghwa's tongue map his mouth with fervor. He doesn't have the energy to respond back as enthusiastically as Seonghwa kisses him, but it still feels so good to makeout lazily even if they're doing it for the sake of their cover.

When they leave, Jinho throws them a wave from where he is standing amidst a couple on the raised platform. Seonghwa is the one who waves back before Hongjoong can even think of raising his hands. In hindsight, from Jinho's perspective it could be counted as Seonghwa warming up to him so Hongjoong doesn't prod. 

As they step out into the hallway, Hongjoong's body is aching all over, but Seonghwa's hand on his hips are a permanent statement. One Hongjoong doesn't mind.

At all.

Even the guard's obscene leer doesn't faze the warm feeling.

***

Hongjoong watches as Seonghwa glances at the road and Hongjoong alternatively. He has Seonghwa's denim jacket thrown around his shoulders and he tugs the lapels closer in light of the harrowing feeling crawling up his throat. The heater is on inside the car, but it does nothing to quell the terror still simmering on low in his chest.

They're going back after being done with their second session, but the night hadn't been all sunshine and rainbows. A much less complicated pattern of shibari was taught by Jinho tonight, something he assured Seonghwa could do at home without supervision too. Hongjoong had been in the zone, receptive and pliant. 

Seonghwa had fingered him again, stealing all the sounds he made right from his mouth before they could drift into the air in the room. 

It was fine, Hongjoong can promise that anywhere, it was totally fine until... 

… until Jinho mentioned _ breathplay _.

Hongjoong hadn't intended on losing it, but he was all tied up and Seonghwa had his head turned, facing Jinho as the other man enquired about their kinks. He couldn't even gather enough breath to make a sound and neither had his mouth cooperated enough to use his safeword. As a consequence, he'd panicked so much that he'd choked on thin air until Jinho noticed him struggling and signalled Seonghwa. 

It was terrifying because suddenly claustrophobia had hit him out of nowhere and he'd cried even if a part of him wanted to stay strong and not fuck the mission up. If he thinks about it, Hongjoong can still see how Seonghwa's hands had been shaking as he untied the ropes. Hongjoong had badly wished he'd been alone, but Seonghwa had gathered him in his arms and pressed kisses to his hair, whispering reassurances and sweet nothings.

"Breathplay is out, then," Jinho had said, no judgment on his face after Hongjoong had calmed down enough to dress himself. He was grateful as Jinho explained that a lot of his clients panicked for a variety of things that he didn't deem it to be a big deal anymore. 

Hongjoong had listened passively, mind leagues away. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't even remember walking to their car or bidding Jinho goodbye. But he does know one thing. That he owes Seonghwa an apology.

"Seonghwa," he calls, voice wrecked from the crying fit earlier. Seonghwa turns to face him. "I'm sorry."

Seonghwa huffs out a breath. "You mentioned everything, Hongjoong. Everything except for the fact that even the mention of choking causes you to have a panic attack. How does anybody miss_ that _? I asked you, over and over, if there was anything more for you to say. Hell, I asked yesterday, but you just brushed it off."

It's accusatory, but under his voice and his angry words, there's a potent current of worry, one that Hongjoong would have been pleased at any day, but now he just feels guilty hearing it. 

"I'm sorry for stressing you out and almost fucking up this mission." 

Seonghwa turns wide-eyed to him and upon seeing Hongjoong's apologetic expression, he pulls over to the left side of the road. 

"Are you kidding me?"

Hongjoong tilts his head in confusion at the look Seonghwa levels him.

"What?" Hongjoong asks, confused.

"Fuck," Seonghwa swears under his breath and rubs a hand over his face, twisting the key to turn the engine off. "_ Hongjoong, _you think I give a fuck about the mission? You were hyperventilating and shaking in my arms. You couldn't even muster enough air to use your safeword. In the midst of me completely losing at seeing you like that, how the fuck did you get to the conclusion that I care about the mission more than you?"

It's probably the first time that Hongjoong has heard Seonghwa swear this much. He's fuming, it's easy to see that, but still, Hongjoong's still not completely understanding why Seonghwa would react so badly to a simple panic attack.

"It was just a panic attack," he says, trying to remain calm as he sticks to the plan to let Seonghwa's temper run its course.

"_ Just _ a panic attack," Seonghwa says, following it with a humorless laugh. "How many times have you had panic attacks that it became _ just _ a panic attack, Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong stays silent, not ready to tell Seonghwa the monthly statistics of how many times he breaks down.

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa calls, defeated, "tell me what’s wrong. Why are you so scared?”

Hongjoong lets out a resigned sigh. He’d hoped that perhaps Seonghwa would have snooped around and came to know about what happened. Maybe he was relying on Yang’s blabbermouth self to boast about how he once had made Hongjoong break down completely in front of him. But looking at Seonghwa now, at how lost he seems to be at the fact that he doesn’t know what’s going on with Hongjoong, he understands that Seonghwa really truly has no clue whatsoever.

“Yang,” Hongjoong loathes how his voice cracks on the name as he says it. “I was with him for a three-month-long training session. On the second day of training, he locked me up in a damaged freezer with my hands tied behind my back. Eden pulled me out seven hours later.”

Hongjoong can remember every minute he spent trying to move around and scream for help. With his hands tied, he hadn’t even been able to bang on the lid to get it off or make some noise loud enough to get someone to help. When Eden finally pulled Hongjoong out, he’d been shaking but numb, mumbling the only word he’d repeated for hours on end as his screams died down to a whisper for help.

Eden had wanted to get Yang suspended, but the man had smirked at Hongjoong who’d been clutching Eden’s shirt and sobbing silently with such a cocky look that he’d known that the best payback would be pretending like he was unfazed.

He pretended just fine, but there were moments when darkness would pull him right into the narrow cell of the freezer, when the smallest restraint would make him panic, when anything that hindered his breathing, even the slightest mention of it would lead to him throwing a fit. 

Seonghwa shakes his head and leans over with his arm outstretched. Hongjoong almost flinches back but Seonghwa’s cool fingers meet his cheeks as he wipes the tears away, before Hongjoong can move out of the way.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Seonghwa says. His throat bobs as he swallows audibly. Hongjoong isn’t expecting a wordy consolation from Seonghwa because he knows as vocal as Seonghwa has gotten lately, he’s still learning. They lapse into silence again, but Seonghwa doesn’t let it drag on too long. “You could have told me.”

Hongjoong gives him a tired look, body and mind exhausted from the events that had transpired tonight.

“Told you what, Seonghwa? Hey, your mentor is a complete dick who locked me up in a freezer this one time and now I can’t talk about breathing because it fucks me up? Send my love to him?”

Seonghwa doesn’t respond, his head bowing in what Hongjoong assumes is guilt. “It’s over. It happened years ago. Nothing we do right now will help, neither will it change what happened. You caught me at a bad time today and I almost screwed the mission up. But we got through it and that’s all that matters.”

Seonghwa sighs, swallowing visibly like he is gulping down an avalanche of words with great effort. Hongjoong appreciates that Seonghwa’s been more vocal lately, but tonight, he needs the quiet to stay.

Seonghwa looks like he understands that because he nods, once to himself and once at Hongjoong and puts the car into drive. Hongjoong keeps in the sobs that threaten to burst out until he’s speed walking to his room and then he lets go.

Trauma is one petty little bitch and Hongjoong wishes, so desperately in moments like this, for everything to stop so that he can finally catch a break.

When Seonghwa crawls into his bed a little after midnight, Hongjoong is still crying softly. He’s too drained to wipe his face or to play pretend. Seonghwa taps his ankle in warning before he settles in behind him.

Strangely enough, Seonghwa holds him through the night and all Hongjoong can think about is how Seonghwa had held him through his panic attack too, but words drift away from him tonight, so he loses himself to Seonghwa’s warmth and surrenders to oblivion, an unsaid _ thank you _ at the tip of his tongue.

***

Jinho's phone rings and he looks down at the caller ID. He excuses himself from the room as Hongjoong collapses on the bed, thighs aching from the exertion. 

They'd known that they couldn't hold off from having sex anyway and today, Jinho had asked them to just let themselves be free, which was pretty much code for sex. 

Hongjoong had been blindfolded, but that had only added to the experience. Being deprived of one sense meant that his other senses were working double time, making every single touch burn feverishly hot against his skin. 

Seonghwa had tapped his waist for permission before he proceeded with taking his time in fingering him. He'd been slow, edging Hongjoong every now and then at Jinho's orders before he finally gave in to the urge and fucked the daylights out of Hongjoong. 

The hilarious part was that Jinho had given them a sample of the drug, promising that their sex life would be seas better with it. His timing is shitty, Hongjoong thinks. Seonghwa had pretended to be interested and Jinho's leer had only grown exponentially at seeing a potential customer whom they could drain dry with the offer of drugs.

It's a disappointment that they'll all go down together, like dominoes stacked neatly next to each other, evenly spaced. He thinks that they deserve worse, but this is just how it will be, a bullet to their heads or an elbow striking the back of their necks. 

That's their end. An end Hongjoong and Seonghwa have plotted without regrets.

Hongjoong's heart is still beating rapidly, sweat covering his body as he comes down from the high of the orgasm. Seonghwa picks up the wet towel Jinho had handed him earlier and gently wipes Hongjoong's stomach with repetitive, mechanical motions.

Hongjoong feels limp, post-orgasmic haze catching up to him quickly.

But they have a job to do tonight. 

Seonghwa taking longer than usual to prepare him hadn't been a coincidence at all, contrary to what they'd convinced Jinho. The club closed at three in the morning on weekdays and they'd arrived at midnight with a clear plan regarding what to do. After three, only staff stayed back in order to clear the place of the remnants of the day. But Jinho's clients usually got a little extra time and they had o decided to use that to their advantage. They'd engaged in a long banter regarding the utter waste that the second session had been and after careful deliberations regarding payment, Jinho had dragged them down to their regular room, watching them get intimate as he had made a habit of over the course of their three visits.

What he didn't know was how tonight would be his last night here. 

Hongjoong dresses slowly, twisting his arm to momentarily get rid of the soreness settling in quickly.

"You okay?" Seonghwa asks and he buttons his shirt absent-mindedly as he steps closer. 

Hongjoong nods, stretching his arms, ignoring the slight ache lingering in his lower extremities.

His arm seems to be dealing with a cramp and Hongjoong curses internally as he twists it every which way to get rid of it. He'd need his arms and brute force tonight because close combat was the only method that stood a chance here. Bringing in any kind of weapon was an impossibility with the amount of security detail the club had going for them. Their second-best plan was to take out as many people as possible before they could sneak outside and get the guns from the guards. It helped that civilians would already be on their way home by the time they got started. Yunho, Jongho and Hwanwoong would be outside waiting with their clean up team. It would have been better to call them in when it was time, but they couldn't just storm in because if given time, the guards could easily alert the higher-ups and let them know that they've been compromised. 

That is something they absolutely didn't want to see happen. Additionally, Eden had told them that some guy from the elite squad would take out the three aristocrats with major links to drug cartels who also happened to be the only owners of the club. 

An empire turning to dust overnight. Hongjoong hopes that whoever the agent was, they manage to take out all the three targets by dawn. 

It was a complete erasure, something KQ did only when it was absolutely necessary and in two days, Hongjoong knows that the police will pretend to fake that they have no leads and promptly close the case. They had lost two of their own to this ring after all. 

The mafia would bounce back, but the drug cartel would die a certain death tonight.

Jinho steps inside the room, but Hongjoong can immediately tell that something is wrong. Jinho's posture is defensive and he looks like he's ready to pounce on anyone who moves. Hongjoong instinctively straightens up.

"Who are you?"

The question rings loud and clear in the room.

"Seonghwa," Seonghwa answers, rubbing his eyes nonchalantly, catching up quickly to the shift in demeanor. "Hongjoong," he says, pointing a finger at him. Hongjoong stays deadly silent and unmoving.

Jinho laughs at them, but there's fear showing through the cracks in his facade. 

"You're not cops," he states before his face twists with doubt. "Are you cops?"

Seonghwa shakes his head. 

"We aren't," he replies, expressionless.

"Then, who the fuck are you?" Jinho screams, pulling a gun out from his pocket and firing five shots in succession, but there's a silencer attached to it so the shots are muted to a large extent. No one would hear Jinho or the bullets emptied into the ceiling.

Karma, Hongjoong thinks, is a useful bitch sometimes. 

Jinho points the gun at them. He's standing barely a few feet away, nothing much in terms of distance that Hongjoong or Seonghwa can't cover with a quick move but the gun is a hurdle so it's important to distract him.

"You're holding an R8 revolver. A true beauty," Hongjoong says, making sure his voice lilts as he steps closer with his hands raised. Jinho's hands tighten on the gun. The dominant energy he usually exudes is barely even a spark anymore. Hongjoong has to give him mad props for bravado, but this night is inevitable.

The most interesting thing though, is that Jinho seems to know it too.

It's a scenario they've engineered themselves and Hongjoong would rather jump off from the Eiffel tower than let this one hitch mess up the plan.

"You just wasted five bullets." Hongjoong smiles and turns to Seonghwa, a question on his lips. "And how many bullets does an R8 have, Seonghwa?"

Seonghwa smiles, his lips stretching lethally over his teeth. "Eight."

"So you've got three bullets left. Now that makes one wonder, how good of a shot are you, Park Jinho?" 

Jinho's hand shakes as he looks at the ground. Hongjoong sees the window of opportunity and he leaps forward, kicking Jinho's feet from under him and grabbing the gun with his hand while he's at it. Jinho's training must kick into action because he immediately goes to jump up from the ground, but Hongjoong flicks the safety on and off and points the gun at his forehead.

"He never misses a shot. Just saying," Seonghwa provides from beside Hongjoong.

They don't go for much fanfare. That was not their style of doing things after all. Hongjoong puts a bullet between the man's eyes and walks out, not even sparing a glance at the rapidly cooling body. But Seonghwa kneels on the floor next to the puddle of blood and grabs the phone, causing Hongjoong to halt just short of the door. Scrolling through it after using Jinho's fingerprint to unlock it, Seonghwa looks up.

"It's someone in the club who texted him and a few minutes later, they called. It says here that their outer guards and perimeter security were taken down."

Hongjoong blanches. "Then how'd he know it was us?"

Seonghwa shrugs. "Might have just made a wild guess," he says. 

It wouldn't be the first time. 

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Seonghwa straightens up to his feet. The call is short, but with the way he rubs the bridge of his nose seconds into the call, Hongjoong expects the worst.

"Yunho's hit."

Hongjoong turns wide-eyed to him. "How? Is he okay?"

"Jongho dropped his gun and gave their location away. One of the guards was patrolling. Hwanwoong took care of the first guard, and when the second came, Yunho shot him in the chest, but he was conscious enough to shoot back."

Hongjoong swears under his breath. He was going to have to resort to wrapping his friends with bubble wrap in order to stop them from getting injured so frequently. Yunho had been on the field for a grand total of three months. How he got shot in such a short timeframe blows his mind.

"He was just hit on the arm, Hongjoong. It'll be fine. Hwanwoong is driving him to the hospital. Jongho and the rest of the squad will stay." Seonghwa seems frustrated too, but Hongjoong can see that he's reining it in for the sake of the mission. 

"Wouldn't they have informed the others though?"

Seonghwa shakes his head.

"Jongho turned the signal jammer on."

"We'll take the guards in the second entrance down and approach the main hall," Hongjoong suggests, satisfied that signals will be down for the time being, feeling comfortable enough in shifting their plan around with ease. 

Hongjoong elbows the man in the gut and knees him when he hunches over. He's about to make a grab for the gun when two silenced shots ring out and the guard drops lifeless to the ground courtesy of Seonghwa grabbing the guard by the neck and slamming his head on the wall. Seonghwa shakes his hand which is holding the gun and gestures with his chin towards the body. Hongjoong kneels down to turn the body over so that he can grab the gun.

"It's a Glock 20," Hongjoong remarks in awe. Seonghwa nods in amusement.

"Why are you surprised?" He asks as they walk inside.

"Because it looks like we won't even have to reload." 

Sure enough, they don't have to reload the gun. 

There are nineteen people inside, engaged in drinking in the middle of the room. The moment they enter, the men turn around and pull their guns on them. 

"We've been waiting," the man standing on the extreme end of the table says, gun aimed at them.

"We hope we didn't keep you waiting for long," Seonghwa says.

It's insane how in sync they are when they open fire. They duck behind the counter after the initial shots are fired. The first round had taken down eleven, Hongjoong assumes, judging by the math.

Multiple shots hit the counter and ricochet, rattling it.

"I counted eleven, Seonghwa," Hongjoong says.

"Eleven dead. Three bleeding out from what I can see," Seonghwa corrects, poking his head around the counter to have a better look, but Hongjoong pulls him right back to his side with a tight grip on his shoulder.

Seonghwa eyes Hongjoong's hand which is still clamped down on his shoulder and smiles. "Worried?" He asks, voice teasing. 

Hongjoong wants to shove him away and hide his blushing face in the safety of his room, but if he shoved Seonghwa now, he'll be in the direct line of fire so Hongjoong holds back, but not without a glare thrown at Seonghwa, neither confirming nor denying his doubt.

Hongjoong takes his shoe off and throws it up. A flurry of bullets hit the wall in front of them and then, Hongjoong hears it, the tell-tale sounds of guns clicking, empty cartridges. He puts a finger against Seonghwa's lips to make him stay quiet and spins around using his ankles, poking his head barely high enough to expose his red hair. Seonghwa pulls him under when more shots ring out. 

At best, there's one working gun which is low on ammo now, Hongjoong figures. He gives Seonghwa a look of understanding before they straighten up together, guns at the ready and firing.

A second later, there's only one man who's alive, barely so, gurgling on his blood, the bullet having pierced his lung.

"Does anybody know?" Seonghwa asks him, nudging the man in the side with his boot.

The man winces but shakes his head.

"What if he's lying?" It's Hongjoong's turn to be skeptical.

Seonghwa looks down at the man again and shakes his head. "He isn't," he confirms. 

When they walk outside, Jongho is already waiting at the entrance. He's shaken up and Hongjoong watches Seonghwa take a look at the both of them.

“I’ll clear the security footage,” Seonghwa says, before he goes towards the squad who gather in a circle the moment they see him.

The gesture is kind of Seonghwa to do. He's leaving Hongjoong with Jongho because he trusts him to provide the comfort that Seonghwa is incapable of. 

"Jongho, hey," Hongjoong coos, shoving the Glock down his pockets to pull the younger in for a hug.

Jongho is silent as he cries against his shoulder and he doesn't move to pull out of the hug. He's the youngest agent they have and had recently been promoted from intern to field agent much to Eden's dismay. He was well-liked around the office, enough that no one wanted him out on the field, subjecting himself to the external world they made a living from, cold and indifferent and bloody.

"I didn't mean to drop it," Jongho says, still holding on tight to Hongjoong. It takes a moment for him to register what he's talking about till he rewinds his memory to what Seonghwa had said and guesses that Jongho is talking about the gun.

"I know you didn't," Hongjoong says, patting his hair down when he finally pulls away. He's taller and broader than Hongjoong by a good few inches, but the way he'd folded himself in to fit into his arms was enough for Hongjoong to surmise that he couldn't leave the younger alone tonight.

That's how he finds himself driving Seonghwa and Jongho to the hospital at dawn. Yunho is fine. It's his first time getting shot, but he isn't really shaken up, not as much as Jongho is. 

Jongho offers to stay with Yunho. He'll be discharged later during the day after the doctor was certain that he had enough fluids in him to let his body tide over the blood loss.

When Seonghwa leans into his space when they reach their apartment, head bowed and hair hiding his eyes from view, a small smile playing on his lips, Hongjoong lets his arms wrap around the other, knowing that this time it isn't for comfort. 

This time it's jubilant, the feeling of victory and adrenaline keeping them floaty and high in the clouds.

It's a momentary feeling, but Hongjoong clings tight.

***

"I really don't want to go," Hongjoong whines from where he is lying limply on the couch. They'd moved back to the apartment a few days ago and Hongjoong is feeling sentimental so he smothers his face into the cushion and inhales deeply. He's also secretly hoping that Seonghwa would stop trying to convince him.

Seonghwa merely eyes him indifferently from where he is standing close to the arm of the sofa.

"That isn't an option," Seonghwa says, not budging. Hongjoong's view of Seonghwa is inverted, but his heart aches at how handsome he is even when it's distorted like this. Hongjoong screws his eyes shut.

"Wooyoung and San aren't there. What's the point in going then?"

Seonghwa sighs.

"I don't even have a plus one," Hongjoong says, trying to justify his decision to not go to the annual KQ banquet.

It's a new addition to the company schedule which came into force after the new CEO came to power, something about having a day when all their agents could meet and greet each other and exchange pleasantries, where they could pretend like they weren't fighting their demons inside their heads, like their life wasn't dictated by skepticism and constant hyper-vigilance after years on the job.

Hongjoong had attended three so far. He'd missed one because he was out on a mission with Maddox in Paris. The ones he did attend though, they all ended with him finding himself in a fellow agent's bed, waking up to Wooyoung and San's umpteen number of calls and messages asking his whereabouts. He'd heard that the guy he slept with in the second year had died on a mission recently. Hongjoong wishes he could say that he felt for the guy, but the only memory he has of him is a flash of a smile before Hongjoong scrammed quickly to the door with his shirt and hair askew.

So no, Hongjoong isn't the least excited about going.

They were allowed to skip it if they had a solid reason, it was just a party at the end of the day after all. Hongjoong had hoped that Seonghwa would be on board, but apparently, he was planning on going to see if an old friend would be coming or not.

And unfortunately, he was insisting that Hongjoong go with him.

"I don't have one either. We'll be each other's plus one," Seonghwa says coolly.

Hongjoong drops his forehead on the cushion hard enough to make a thump. He lifts his head again, glancing at Seonghwa to see if the man even understood what that sounded like. Seonghwa looks _ clueless _.

Hongjoong exhales heavily.

"Fine," he says. Seonghwa smiles so wide that he looks like he's grimacing, but it's only one of his quirks which lands a painful jab to Hongjoong’s already aching heart.

Hongjoong stares at the ceiling and tugs at the red strands atop his head. 

It's a black-tie event. Something about respecting undercover work and its legacy. Hongjoong doesn't understand how dressing up in stuffy suits is supposed to help maintain tradition when the word itself has always seemed to Hongjoong like letting their ancestors take the wheel even after they were long gone. But Hongjoong, despite opinions generated by his mind in plenty, has never been the kind of person who would disturb a status quo just for the sake of rebelling against it.

He wasn't a revolutionary. He was a shadow.

And shadows remained in the dark.

Evening arrives much earlier than Hongjoong expects. Hongjoong's mourning the clash of the black suit with his strawberry red hair on the mirror when Seonghwa knocks on his door. Seonghwa looks drop-dead gorgeous, his black hair slicked back with some strands gelled together artfully falling on his forehead that Hongjoong has to physically pull himself away from blatantly ogling the man. 

"Ready?" He asks, gaze traveling up and down Hongjoong's body, but it's a warm look so he doesn't think much of it.

Since Seonghwa is having trouble keeping his eyes away, Hongjoong guesses that he probably looks fine. He nods and grabs his wallet and phone from the table, eyes lingering on Seonghwa's sharp gaze, something Hongjoong wouldn't dare name tension hanging in the air.

***

Seonghwa amps up the speed after Eden calls them asking where they are but in much less polite terms.

When they pull into the parking lot under the building, the guards wave at them to hurry up. Hongjoong walks slower intentionally until Seonghwa throws him a pointed look and a raised eyebrow.

There's a chandelier hanging from the ceiling and many coloured lights dancing through the room. It's the first thing that catches his attention. There's a sizable crowd too, but it's not too loud. That's what happens when you put people who were accustomed to working in silence and gave them a party, Hongjoong thinks. From past experience, Hongjoong knows that it will get louder as the night progresses, but it will never get quite loud enough to be called wild.

Maybe a couple of people will make out against the walls or the bathroom cubicles, but that's as messy as it got at events like these.

The music isn't too loud, some upbeat song on low volume to add to the energy in the hall. Hongjoong follows Seonghwa to the bar, wading through the throng of people with _ excuse me _ at the tip of their tongues. Hongjoong is suddenly hit with the feeling of missing Wooyoung and San. He hasn't contacted them in a month. Eden had asked him not to try because any attempt at establishing had a possibility of compromising their cover. Hongjoong just wanted them to be safe and as he follows Seonghwa into the crowd, it reminds him of how Wooyoung and San would link hands and refuse to let go as they pushed between people which often led to Hongjoong getting a wide berth to walk through comfortably.

He hopes that they're safe and healthy. 

When they finally get to the counter, Seonghwa asks him what he wants and orders the same drink, whiskey on the rocks, for the both of them. Seonghwa sits on the barstool next to him and takes a slow sip of his drink. Hongjoong watches the drink travel down his throat as he takes a sip from his own drink. When he looks up, Seonghwa's gaze is smouldering hot on him. 

Seonghwa opens his mouth to say something, his eyes flicking back and forth between Hongjoong's lips and eyes, but he doesn't get to say it as a hand claps Hongjoong on the shoulder.

Hongjoong curses internally at the unforeseen sting that resonates over his back even through the jacket.

"A birdie told me you didn't want to come," Eden says, and his face is sweaty and flushed, but Hongjoong knows he isn't quite drunk yet. His forehead is shiny from perspiration and Hongjoong grabs at the nearest tissue box to hand the senior agent a tissue and gestures to his forehead.

"Well," Hongjoong says, dragging out the syllable, "you have a lot of birdies, don't you?"

Eden chuckles and Hongjoong smiles at how Seonghwa sips whiskey as nonchalantly as he can, but his tense form is a dead giveaway.

"Let yourself unwind a little, Hongjoong," Eden whispers when he leans down. 

"The only unwinding I need is getting to sleep on my bed with my blankets and my favourite pillow. I am deprived of it in a scene like this," Hongjoong says, rolling his eyes and being dramatic.

Eden laughs in amusement, but he freezes, hands reaching for his pocket and pulling out his phone, frowning at the caller ID. That's how parties often went for the senior agent so Hongjoong doesn't think much of it when Eden puts up a finger and walks outside through the side entrance. 

Hongjoong knows for a fact that he won't see him again tonight. He takes an aggressive sip of his drink, Seonghwa levelling him with a look screaming judgement. Hongjoong likes living life on the edge so he sticks out his tongue. Seonghwa stares at him in shock before he shakes his head and downs the entire drink. 

"I'm going to go look for my friend. Call me when you want to leave," Seonghwa says, getting up. Hongjoong keeps his eye on his back until the lights switch up again and when he looks back at where he lost Seonghwa in the crowd, he's nowhere to be seen.

Hongjoong nurses the one drink over the course of the hour, chatting with the girl behind the counter who is an agent herself with an interest in mixology. It's only out of obligation that he talks with her because he's a permanent fixture at the bar by now, watching the bartenders mix drinks and hand them to his fellow agents. Some are kind enough to make eye contact and smile at him, a gesture rising from a mutual feeling of momentary camaraderie and respect for their jobs.

Hongjoong catches a glimpse of Yunho and Jongho as well, but he isn't in the chatty mood tonight so he forgoes approaching them, telling himself that he'd engage only if they came to him. Hongjoong sweeps his gaze around for Seonghwa over and over again, but it's like the man has disappeared into a different realm. Hongjoong knows how good he is at blending in though so he takes a small sip of the whiskey and sighs to himself.

There are a few people who try to buy him a drink, but Hongjoong lets them down politely enough and unsurprisingly, they back off without hard feelings. Hongjoong's chest is a tight ball of anxiety, sadness and too many overwhelming feelings he dare not name so he doesn't have enough faith in himself to hook up with someone without breaking down. He'd feel like he's cheating on Seonghwa too. Even though they're just partners and nothing else. 

Hongjoong feels his mood plummet and he gets up, feeling pathetic for not even finishing his drink. He walks to the bathroom and leans with his hands on the sink, the sink digging painfully into his hips and stares at the mirror. His dark circles aren't as bad as they used to be, but he can feel the exhaustion that has remained a constant ever since he joined his job weather him down. He washes his face with water, running a hand through his hair, not finding it in himself to care that the product in his hair will start to lose strength at the motion. 

He wants to leave, but it's only been an hour and a few minutes since Seonghwa left him to look for his friend and Hongjoong doesn't want to ruin a reunion between friends just because he was an emotional mess.

_ Hey Seonghwa, I feel like I'm drowning. Can we go home? _Yeah, that didn't sound like the best explanation either. 

Hongjoong straightens his bow tie and inhales deeply when he feels movement behind him, the hair at the back of his neck rising in warning. He turns around slowly.

"Hongjoong, long time no see." Hongjoong cringes at the cliche line. It's Junhyeong, a class A prick who had trained with Hongjoong at the academy and he's not alone. There's another man with him who is smirking, it’s someone Hongjoong has seen around the office so he assumes he's an agent too.

This night really was out to get him, wasn't it?

"Can't say the same. Are you still watching spy movies to learn lines so that you can deliver them at critical junctures?" Hongjoong asks, ripping off a tissue from the holder on the wall, wiping his hands with it.

Junhyeong's jaw locks as he grits his teeth, but he recovers quickly. "Well, that depends. Are you still sleeping around the office?"

Hongjoong is _ tired _. It's a rumour which started three years ago. Hongjoong had gone on a mission with Maddox and due to some unforeseen complications, they'd had to pretend like they were having sex in order to escape suspicion. The junior agent who'd accompanied them had been homophobic and he'd spread baseless rumours about Hongjoong all around the office. Eden had blacklisted him for having potentially sabotaged goodwill of working agents and for slander. 

But the damage had already been done. Hongjoong had already had a fair share of enemies in the office, agents who were jealous that he got a personal invitation from Lee Taemin, their elite squad's head. Hongjoong had rejected the invitation as did Wooyoung and San, but the rumours had continued to spread to the point that it became a staple in their office. 

Hongjoong treated it like a running joke because if he considered it anything beyond that, he wouldn't be able to hold on.

"What if I am?" Hongjoong challenges, squaring his shoulders.

It seems to be exactly what Junhyeong wants because he rushes forward, grabbing Hongjoong by his neck to a forceful kiss. Hongjoong tries to knee him in the crotch, but Junhyeong slams his boot down on his feet with ungiving force. His eyes widen at the sharp pain. Hongjoong slams his palms against the other's chest and punches him, resolutely keeping his mouth shut. Junhyeong bites at his bottom lip aggressively and Hongjoong loses it, pain and humiliation coming down like a hail storm. He twists around in the other's hold and elbows him in the stomach, punching the man who accompanied Junhyeong when he tries to subdue him again, kicking him to the ground while he's at it. Junhyeong grabs him by his hair and Hongjoong grips his wrist with both hands to make him let go, fingers and nails digging in. The man on the ground recovers, coming at him with a tight fist. Hongjoong ducks out of the way, the punch landing on Junhyeong who cries out. 

"_ You fucking bitch _!" He roars, coming at Hongjoong with a look of unadulterated rage. Hongjoong is ready to duck again and is mapping out the trajectory of sweeping Junhyeong's legs from under him when the door opens and Seonghwa steps in. Hongjoong sees the exact moment when the scene registers in his partner's mind. 

Hongjoong takes the momentary distraction to kick Junhyeong's friend in his chest and duck away from Junhyeong's line of sight. At seeing Seonghwa, Junhyeong leaps at Hongjoong again, but before Hongjoong can put his hand up to defend himself, Seonghwa slides forward on the balls of his dress shoes, landing a solid punch on Junhyeong's face. 

Like some divine intervention, Eden walks in at the exact moment. Hongjoong twists Junhyeong's friend's arms behind him and breathes heavily as Junhyeong cradles his nose, whimpering in pain.

"Junhyeong," Eden seethes, "I told you that the next time you land a hand on an agent, you're done for."

Eden looks at Hongjoong, his gaze zooming in on his bleeding lip and shakes his head. "Dongju, stay down," Eden tells the man Hongjoong's subdued and the man stops struggling under his grip.

Seonghwa slinks to his side and Hongjoong hates how he flinches, but Seonghwa doesn't look like he cares about it, using his hands to pull Hongjoong's hands from the other man. 

"I'm sorry, Hongjoong," Eden says, shaking his head with a devastated look. Hongjoong can barely bring himself to react. Eden must realize this too because he turns to Seonghwa and says, "Take him home."

Seonghwa nods and guides Hongjoong out with a delicately placed grip on his wrist. Hongjoong pulls his wrist out of his hand when they reach the parking lot. 

Hongjoong's lip stings and he wipes at it aggressively with his hands to get rid of the remnants of Junhyeong's mouth against his. 

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa calls. Hongjoong doesn't respond, choosing to unlock their car so that he can grab the water bottle to rinse his mouth. He spits blood and water on the concrete.

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa calls again.

Hongjoong takes a few deep breaths and gulps down the rest of the water, hating the way the mouth of the bottle digs into the wound on his lip.

Seonghwa steps into his space and shakes him with his hands on his shoulders. Hongjoong shoves at him with his hands. 

"Don't," Hongjoong says and he doesn't know why he sounds so angry.

Seonghwa looks shocked too and he recoils in hurt.

"_ Don't _ fucking _ touch _ me," Hongjoong spits, too many emotions welling in his heart.

"I'm fine. I want to go home," he continues, but Seonghwa takes the key from the seat and shoves it in his pocket.

"No, we aren't going home until you explain."

Hongjoong laughs bitterly.

"I don't owe you anything, Seonghwa."

Seonghwa looks at him like he is a different person and it hurts, but he's already hurting anyway.

"You don't," Seonghwa says, "But what happened up there? Did he force you into something?"

"None of your damn business!" Hongjoong yells, tears streaming down his cheeks without his own volition. "It was just a fucking bastard thinking that he could go around spreading rumours about people's lives and try to act his fantasies out the moment he got a chance, but it is also_ none of your fucking business! _" Hongjoong's voice is raw and hurt as he jabs a finger at the centre of Seonghwa's chest and he is so angry and beneath it, he's so hurt.

"How is that none of my business?" Seonghwa asks, voice rising as he continues. "Some son of a bitch just forcibly touched you! I just had to deck a bastard in the face just so that he'd let you go and you're telling me that it is none of _ my business _ , Hongjoong? _ Make it make sense." _

"You got involved? Is that why you're asking? I had it _handled_. I didn't _ask_ _you_ to step in." Hongjoong knows he makes no sense, but anger is an emotion that doesn't really contribute much to logic so he figures he's allowed the outburst.

"I know you could have handled it, but I couldn't just _stand and_ _watch_, Hongjoong!" Seonghwa's voice is ripping at the seams with the volume, but Hongjoong's just focusing on the last few words. 

"Why can't you? We're just partners, Seonghwa. You could have just left me there. I would have been fine, so why did you?"

It's unfair. To turn the tables on Seonghwa like this when Hongjoong very well knows what's irking him so much about this situation.

"_ Because I love you _!" Seonghwa screams, his chest heaving and Hongjoong blinks, processing the words Seonghwa has just let loose to the night air. "Because I'm a creep who leans on the door to my room and listens to you sing in the kitchen. Because if I'm not lost in my head, to the things which make me want to jump off a ledge, I'm thinking of you. Because I look at you and see everything I'm not allowed to let myself have. Because I love you too much to ever let myself have you because I know I'd ruin you and worst of all, because I know you won't ever love me back," Seonghwa pauses, breathing in shakily, a steady stream of tears rolling down his face. "The only part I can't compromise on is worrying about you. I'm sorry, Hongjoong. I couldn't help it, couldn't help myself from falling for you. Against better judgement and everything I know about myself, I couldn't stop myself in time."

Hongjoong first instinct is to laugh, so he does, but soon enough, it turns into loud sobs. Seonghwa steps forward to console him, but doesn't quite enter his personal space, keeping away, his eyes empty like all hope has left him. Hongjoong balls his hands into fists and hits him in the chest, feeling a sort of calm settle over him. Seonghwa doesn't try to stop the weak punches.

"Why can't you _ see _, Seonghwa?" Hongjoong asks as he rests his fists on Seonghwa's chest and looks up with teary eyes.

"See what, Hongjoong?" Seonghwa's voice is void of any inflection like he's too exhausted to even try to give life to his words. 

"That I love you too, Seonghwa," Hongjoong whispers, curling his hands on Seonghwa's dress shirt and resting his head over his chest. Seonghwa freezes in his hold. 

_ Love _. 

It's the feeling that Hongjoong has carried inside his bleeding heart for months on end, scared that if he named it, it would feel more real than it did then. But Seonghwa has just bared his heart open to him and Hongjoong thinks that it's unfair of him not to tell him what he feels when he knows for a fact that he feels the same way. They've danced around each other for so long that he thinks they deserve this. They deserve this one thing which wasn't tainted by blood with the backing track of gunshots and screams. 

"I've been loving you for so long. I wanted to tell you _ so _ many times, Seonghwa. That you mean so much to me than you'll ever know. That I've been killing myself inside for another moment with you. Why can't you see, Seonghwa?" Hongjoong's body shakes with the force of his sobs and slowly an arm comes around his waist, another tipping his chin to meet his gaze. He is still crying silently and his eyes shine as he looks over Hongjoong's face.

"You're not kidding," Seonghwa realizes with a jolt.

Hongjoong nods his head vigorously, a small sad chuckle escaping him.

"You love me," Seonghwa says, like he's convincing himself. "Hongjoong," his voice breaks, "you _love_ _me_."

Hongjoong nods again, smiling through the tears and Seonghwa leans down to press their foreheads together. 

"I'm still in shock," Seonghwa whispers.

"I know. I am too," Hongjoong whispers back.

"I don't know why we were fighting," Seonghwa confesses. "I don't either," Hongjoong agrees.

A tear rolls from Seonghwa's eye and drops on Hongjoong's nose. Hongjoong lets the grip on his chest loosen and cups Seonghwa's cheeks in his hands, lifting himself on his tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips. Seonghwa's eyes flutter shut at the soft touch.

Seonghwa kisses him back, both his arms wrapping around his waist as he leans down to accommodate to Hongjoong's height, tipping his head back to kiss him softly. Seonghwa takes care to not disturb the wound on his lip much, but the kiss starts to taste like iron soon enough. 

It's symbolic, Hongjoong thinks, his head and heart not quite catching up with this particular tectonic shift that he never saw coming.

Seonghwa looks at him with a sparkle in his eyes, tear streaks drying on his skin and he's beautiful under the moonlight, but what's even stranger is how Seonghwa is looking at him like he means the world to him.

It'll take time to get used to, but time, Hongjoong thinks, is something they had. 

The incident with Junhyeong fades into the background as Seonghwa hugs him in the parking lot, their warmth bleeding into each other. Maybe Hongjoong will remember it tomorrow and break down then, but in the moment he is still in disbelief, not quite coming to terms with how Seonghwa has just confessed.

The hand that tips his head to kiss him tells him a whole other story though and along with it comes another realization.

That all the times they kissed, all the times Seonghwa stared at him, every word exchanged between them as time went on, the one thing in Seonghwa's eyes Hongjoong couldn't quite put a finger on was the one thing Hongjoong really should have known better than to ignore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (wipes sweat) So, uh... they finally did it huh.
> 
> Let me know what you thought in the comments and leave kudos if you liked what you saw. We have 2 more chapters to go!! (that rhymed!)
> 
> Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!
> 
> PS: A special thank you and lots of hugs to S for holding my hand in our chatbox despite being sick and for patiently reading snippets, providing valuable opinions which helped me sort out a lot of things and M for hyping me up and supporting me through this process, I love you both so much!!


	9. Mission Seven: Ready, Steady, Deadly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> I've got yet another massive chapter for you! I hope you enjoy~
> 
> TW: Graphic depiction of violence, Blood

It’s surreal, Hongjoong thinks. 

Safely tucked between Seonghwa’s arms in a manner reminiscent of all the times before when they’ve found themselves in the exact same position, not a limb or a muscle out of place, Hongjoong feels a little sceptical of the ways of the universe, even if all he wants to do is hide his face in Seonghwa’s scent and never come up for air. This is different too, borderline unbelievable if not for the way Seonghwa is subconsciously clutching him tighter in response to how Hongjoong is tensing, his fingers digging into the skin where Hongjoong’s sleep shirt has rode up. 

It’s  _ so _ fucking unbelievable that if someone told him that he’d been hit with a baseball bat and that he’s in a coma, dreaming about everything he’s ever wanted, he’d be hard-pressed to not try to believe it.

Hongjoong shifts, his mattress accommodating to the new position even if it’s barely a movement big enough for Seonghwa to move along with him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, feeling his lungs close in on him when Seonghwa pulls him that much tighter.

Hongjoong hates that he wants Seonghwa to let go because he has wanted this forever, but he can't ignore the way his chest is failing him by seizing up. 

He just wants to  _ breathe _ .

“Seonghwa,” he calls. It’s barely a whisper and Hongjoong can feel himself start to sweat, Seonghwa’s arms suddenly feeling like chains around him even if this is everything he’s envisioned for months ever since he realized the exact trajectory his heart and mind had helped put together in a slow and rocky descent to salvation.

Hongjoong shivers even if he’s started to sweat bullets and fear is slow poison that’s diluting itself directly into his veins. Hongjoong lets out a shaky exhale and tries to calm himself down to no avail.

Seonghwa shifts and before Hongjoong knows it, he’s moving away and Hongjoong sighs a little in relief, trying to control his tears from falling. The relief, however, doesn’t last for too long because the next moment finds Hongjoong hitting the mattress hard, Seonghwa twisting him in his hold and slamming him against the bed, eyes wild. 

Seonghwa’s arm moves too quickly for Hongjoong to ascertain and before he can attempt to calm himself or Seonghwa down, he’s staring at the barrel of his Glock, the hand on the trigger belonging to the only man Hongjoong has ever loved.

Panic dies down as his mind takes back the control he’d lost so pathetically mere moments ago. Seonghwa’s eyes flick wildly over him and Hongjoong smiles even if it’s wobbly, letting himself relax under Seonghwa or the way his weight is bearing down on him unlike all the times before when he’d be careful enough to distribute his weight evenly so that Hongjoong doesn’t feel caged in.

Hongjoong watches as Seonghwa takes in the sight and processes it, face crumbling at the knowledge of what he’d been so close to doing.

There’s a crash, the Glock hitting the wall and landing on the floor, but Hongjoong barely registers it as Seonghwa leans over him, tucking his face in the space between Hongjoong’s ears and shoulder. Like this, it’s easy for him to forget that he’d been on the verge of a panic attack literally seconds ago.

Hongjoong breathes without struggling as Seonghwa inhales and exhales shakily against the sweaty skin of his neck, mumbling something that he can’t discern.

“Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa is folded over him and he’s tense all over so Hongjoong lets his arms lift so that he can smooth them over the other’s back in an attempt to calm him down.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says and his voice is all choked up. It’s like someone had put Hongjoong’s heart together only for it to be open to the embedding of a gazillion cracks, courtesy of the man hovering over him, clinging to him for dear life.

But not much has changed. Hongjoong will still give up the world for him, subject himself to every single nightmare if he gets to have Seonghwa, if he gets to keep him safe, if he gets to hold him like this even as he falls apart.

“It’s okay, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong whispers, letting one hand slip under Seonghwa’s shirt so that he can touch his skin and ground him in reality, assure him that he’s fine, that he’s done no harm.

“It isn’t,” Seonghwa whispers back, haunted. He attempts to pull away but Hongjoong doesn’t let him, scooting up as Seonghwa sits back, legs tucked under him, his hand pulling at his hair in what looks and Hongjoong knows to be a painful grip.

Hongjoong reaches for him with his hands, hugging Seonghwa’s head to his chest, the other man not even daring to make eye contact, curling into himself, the movement feeling like a knife slicing right through Hongjoong’s heart.

“You didn’t hurt me, Seonghwa. Even if you did, I know you wouldn’t have meant it. It’s okay,” Hongjoong says, kissing Seonghwa’s hair and holding him with every shred of love he has in him.

“That doesn’t make it okay. I’m…” Seonghwa pauses before he takes a deep breath like he needs courage to utter what his mind has formulated. “ _ I’m in love with you _ ,” Seonghwa says and Hongjoong shivers at the words, at the way Seonghwa means it with all he has. Seonghwa lifts his head from his chest and Hongjoong loosens his grip on him, letting him stay close as Seonghwa’s eyes search his face before he continues, ”I’m not supposed to view you as a  _ threat _ , Hongjoong, but my mind just won’t fucking  _ listen _ . I don’t think it’s fair to have you wake up every night to me holding a knife against your neck or a gun to your head.”

Hongjoong sighs. “Seonghwa, we’ve talked about this. You aren’t going to hurt me. You haven’t had a nightmare in three days.”

It’s true. It’s been a week since the party at KQ and all the nights after, even if there was a slight hesitation in the way they’d freeze before allowing themselves to touch and hold each other close, Seonghwa has slept peacefully. Hongjoong has spent every single one of these nights staring at the slope of Seonghwa’s nose or the way his lashes fanned out on his cheek, tempted to place a hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat, foregoing it so that Seonghwa wouldn’t wake up in complete panic.

Seonghwa gapes at him before he shuts his mouth with a soft click. “You’re keeping count,” he says, confused like he can’t fathom why Hongjoong, or anyone would do something like keep count of the days he slept well.

Hongjoong chuckles lowly even if it’s more to alleviate the feeling of being put on the spot rather than with real humor. 

“I am,” Hongjoong admits. “I’ve always been worried about your sleep schedule, Seonghwa. I’ve always kept a close eye on that because you would look like a zombie on missions and it hurt to see you like that. Like this,” Hongjoong cups his cheek with both hands, Seonghwa leaning in to the touch, “Like this, I’ll know what’s happening and that’s all I’ll ever ask of you.”

Seonghwa nods, eyes shining in the dull lighting. Hongjoong leans forward, their foreheads touching, Seonghwa huffing out a breath of what sounds like disbelief.

“Do you know how much I wanted to be this close to you?” Seonghwa asks, but it doesn’t ring like a question, so Hongjoong doesn’t respond. “It was torture because you were  _ so _ close and I knew I could just stretch my hand and reach for you but I didn’t… I still don’t think I deserve to fuck up your life, Hongjoong. I’m fucked up. I’m…”

They’ve talked about this, the past few days consisting of their own stilted attempts at talking it out, trying to figure when the boundaries of their profession blurred so well into the space between them that suddenly looking at the other end of the room didn’t seem like an obligation but an act of desperation, when checking for bloody patches on each other to make sure they weren’t hurt became a habit too quickly for them to even register, when every moment spent with each other felt too tense because words were so deeply lodged in their throats, their stubbornness and self-depreciation not helping matters much.

Hongjoong thought he was the only one hanging on to a sinking ship. He hadn’t seen Seonghwa do the same on the other side, hands cramping, nails bleeding from raking it over the oak so many times that Seonghwa had almost let himself give up. They hadn’t known what it felt like to love someone like this and it showed in everything they did. It was no fault of their own. Seonghwa’s misconception that he’d burn Hongjoong with every touch hadn’t helped.

Little does Seonghwa know, Hongjoong thinks, that he still burns, but it’s comforting now, making him feel warm and peaceful inside because this time, against all odds and any expectations Hongjoong has had, Seonghwa is here and in love with him.

But this, Seonghwa beating himself up over being a hazard to Hongjoong in his head, this image that he has created of himself like he’s going to somehow cause Hongjoong to fall to his death or something, this Hongjoong  _ can’t _ bear to hear.

Seonghwa’s face spells utter agony, his mouth opening and closing before he gives up and lets the first tear fall.

Hongjoong shakes his head hard.

“No,” he says, fiercely, wiping Seonghwa’s face gently. “Don’t do that to yourself. Just trust me, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong pauses, “Do you?”

Seonghwa sends him a look that nails him to the wall. “Of course, I trust you. I trust you with everything I have, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong smiles softly even if the situation is definitely not the best they’ve faced. “Then trust me when I say that this is  _ enough _ ,  _ you _ are enough for me and I’ll take you however you are because I love you, Seonghwa. I don’t care if you have nightmares, I don’t care if you get up and panic and hold a knife to my throat because I know you, Seonghwa. Because even if you let the knife touch my throat, you will never let it kill me because you’ll come to your senses the moment you see my face. That’s all I want, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Hongjoong leans in and hugs Seonghwa, his lips moving against his ears when he says, “For you to see me. That’s all I’ve ever asked for. And you do now, you see me and I was blind before because I missed all the times you did that in the months I spent digging a hole for myself, landing myself deeper and deeper in my fears and my anxieties that I lost sight of how you came back, that no matter how many times you closed that door in my face, you opened it even wider for me every single time. Maybe you’re fucked up, but I am too, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa arms tighten around him, their heartbeats syncing up in the embrace.

“We will never not be fucked up and I don’t think that it’s realistic for us to ask for that because a white-picket fence, kids and wonderful parents? We’ll never have that. What we will have is waking up to the other sobbing or talking each other out of a panic attack or stepping in front of bullets because the other ran out of ammo or just shutting the other out because it’s too fucking loud even if no one is talking. It’ll be going on missions and digging your nails in your thighs to stop yourself from getting some wretched man’s hands off of the other. It’ll be killing ten people in minutes and kissing in the blood bath. It’ll be wonderful and terrifying but whatever it is, I’m here, with you and I know that you’ll be here, for me,” Hongjoong says, pausing for a breath, his hand carding through Seonghwa’s hair.

“Some days, it may not be enough, but we’ll look forward to the other days when everything will seem a little brighter, a little warmer, when we can pretend like we’re normal and hold hands in public and smile at the neighbour’s dog. We can have that, Seonghwa. I promise.”

Seonghwa pulls away, extricating himself like it hurts him to do it. Hongjoong lets his hands fall because Seonghwa looked like he had something to ask. 

Seonghwa stares at him like he believes him, like he knows Hongjoong would turn the world upside down to keep his promise, but Hongjoong can see the war he’s raging inside, to believe that he deserves happiness when whatever has happened has ripped away all his sense of security and changed the very core of his being.

“But what if we can’t have that, Hongjoong? What if you’re here now and you don’t want to be here tomorrow? What if you finally see that I’m not good for you? What if you want to walk out that door and never return again? What if I’m…”

Hongjoong’s eyes sting as he presses his lips to Seonghwa’s with an urgent need, finally feeling the wetness gathering on his eyes flow downward, mixing with Seonghwa’ tears as they kiss each other desperately. Seonghwa melts into him like he’s the only link tethering him to the world and Hongjoong licks languidly into his mouth before he gives up on trying to convey how much he feels for Seonghwa, instead focusing on giving Seonghwa a moment when he can forget, when he can forgive himself for everything he has supposedly ruined by his bare hands. Hongjoong just wants to take that pain away, even if it is just for a moment.

“I love you,” Hongjoong says, his mouth touching Seonghwa’s, the other’s face shimmering with tears, lips quivering as he tries to keep in the sobs and Hongjoong cracks like a glass flung at the wall. 

“I love…,” his voice gives up on him but he pulls himself together, “I love you, Seonghwa. I love you so much. I will  _ never _ leave. Even when I thought I didn’t have a shot at having this, at having you, I promised, remember? I told you to watch me stay, so sit back and watch me be here, for you.”

Seonghwa's eyes are red, tears smudged over his face making the skin shine. The look in his eyes is pained, but he nods. Hongjoong smiles proudly because he remembers the first time he made this promise, Seonghwa shaking his head in vehement denial, the exact way his heart had broken at how Seonghwa had hesitated to hold his hand, the way he’d run back to his room to hide away from Seonghwa and cry a river worth of tears for his partner who was hurting, clearly, who wouldn’t let him even touch him to comfort.

Seonghwa lies down as Hongjoong pulls him down, curling up against him. Hongjoong holds him close, a patch of skin of his chest warming with every puff of breath leaving Seonghwa. This position is new, but it’s comfortable, and he loves that he feels like Seonghwa is finally letting him in, trusting him enough to hold him together.

“You never told me about…” Seonghwa trails off, a little later when Hongjoong is just about to slip into the arms of sleep.

Hongjoong shifts so that he can smooth his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair. His wrist will soon start to cramp at the angle, but it’s a concern for later, so Hongjoong lets it be.

“Told you about what?” He asks, voice cracking from the onslaught of sleepiness, wishing he could see Seonghwa’s face but simultaneously feeling happy at how comfortable Seonghwa seemed in this position.

“How long, Hongjoong?” Seonghwa’s voice isn’t demanding, but Hongjoong knows it’s an answer he owes him.

“Too long,” Hongjoong says. It’s an attempt at avoiding answering too honestly and he knows better to not do this to Seonghwa, but his heart is suddenly pounding hard in his chest from anxiety.

“Our second mission,” Seonghwa says, like it’s the best thing that had happened to him, a deep inhale following it as his mouth curves against the thin fabric of Hongjoong’s t-shirt. “It wasn’t love, but I knew I liked you and I… I tried so hard not to, but I couldn’t stop it. I thought I knew better. I thought you’d never like me, but I guess I was wrong, huh?” Seonghwa’s voice tapers into a low chuckle, and it oozes happiness and disbelief in equal parts that Hongjoong can’t help the smile that stretches on his face. It’s a complete contrast to how Seonghwa was wobbling along a thin line to get to Hongjoong a few minutes ago.

It’s also a revelation because their second mission was an assassination in Daegu. It had gone smoothly and looking back at it, all Hongjoong remembers is how he’d pulled Seonghwa into the car when he froze staring at the kid who was running into the alley they’d left the body in.

“Daegu. That was so long ago, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong stutters, acting like he hadn’t known something was special about this man since the day they first met.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa breathes in agreement. It’s a happy sound. However, Hongjoong can’t help but think the hurricane he must have wreaked in his heart. “So tell me, how long?”

Hongjoong clears his throat. “That’s unfair,” he says, but it’s more out of nervousness than anything else.

Seonghwa huffs out a laugh. Like this, Hongjoong can almost pretend like Seonghwa isn’t the personified version of a shoe waiting to drop, but it’s also a reminder of how tumultuous their emotions are. This job really had taken everything from them, mood swings a permanent fixture they couldn’t shake off. 

“The world isn’t fair, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong had nothing to counter that statement because it was true, painfully so.

“What will you get from it?” Hongjoong asks, his heart stuttering in his chest.

“I don’t know. We don’t talk enough, Hongjoong. I  _ want _ to talk. I want to know everything about you. I want to tell you  _ everything _ . If we have to make progress, we have to start somewhere, right?”

Hongjoong inhales deeply, weighing Seonghwa’s words. Honestly, he’d be fine with the exact way things were now, but he knows himself better and he can already see his future self fussing over every little thing that went unsaid. He isn’t going to lose anything tonight if he opens up to the man he loves, if he tells him about the exact moment he knew he wanted him in his life.

“Eden’s office. The first time I saw you,” Hongjoong says, making his mind up, breath uneven despite his attempts to stay calm.

Seonghwa tenses in his hold. “That’s… Why?”

He doesn’t sound like he’s judging, just a taken aback. 

“It wasn’t love at first sight or anything but I saw you, Seonghwa, and I wanted to be there for you because you looked like you had lived through hell and I wanted to help. I wanted to know what happened but the more I watched you, my priorities shifted and before I knew it, I was staring at the aftermath of a tentative partnership, a friendship, a bond that mattered way too much to me than for you or so I thought,” Hongjoong pauses, wondering if he has said more than what he was supposed to be, but he continues, listening to his heart, “I always knew you cared and it didn’t help me much when I tried to stop myself from falling for you.”

Seonghwa doesn’t respond quickly.

“Do you regret it?” Seonghwa asks finally, when enough time has passed for Hongjoong to begin internally panicking again.

“No,” Hongjoong replies instantly. “It hurt. I'm not going to try and say it didn't. I cried way too much, thinking about everything that couldn't be, and I was angry at myself for a whole before I gave up trying, but regret?" Hongjoong takes a careful breath. "I could never bring myself to regret you, Seonghwa.”

They’ve been idiots all along. If they’d just been honest with themselves from the start, maybe things would have been different, better in some way Hongjoong’s sleep-addled brain can’t figure out in the moment, but as it is, Hongjoong can’t think of how this could have gone any better. Seonghwa needed the time away, he needed to be allowed to come to him in his own space and time and when he really dwells on it, Hongjoong thinks that the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Seonghwa doesn’t say anything more for the rest of the night. Hongjoong doesn’t think he needs to anyway.

Small confessions, meaningful looks and the quiet.

This was them.

Nothing could appease them more than that. 

Words could wait.

For now, this was more than enough.

***

Hongjoong downs a glass of water, turning back to the sink with a quick turn of his heel. Seonghwa hovers behind him, his eyes focused and too sharp for him to not have something he needs to say. It’s a tell Hongjoong understands the moment he senses it. Hongjoong patiently waits, trying to not make a big deal out of how he’s aware that Seonghwa has been following him around in the apartment in the least subtle way possible. They’re not in the talking mood today, but it’s a comfortable silence. Seonghwa clearly had something to say though and Hongjoong wishes that the other would just spit it out and save him the snowballing concern inside his stomach.

Hongjoong opens the refrigerator to make a mental list of things he needs to buy from the grocery store.

“I want to come with you,” Seonghwa says and it isn’t a momentary lapse in judgement or blurted out all of a sudden, but his voice cuts through the silence in the kitchen. He says it like he’s given it some proper thought, but Hongjoong is in one of those moods where he processes words for what they are and not on the implications behind it, so he looks at Seonghwa with a puzzled look. 

Where does Seonghwa want to go with him?

“The grocery store,” Seonghwa says, fiddling with the cuff of his sweater. Hongjoong raises an eyebrow. Seonghwa lets out a huff of what sounds like frustration.

“Let’s go grocery shopping, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa clarifies and Hongjoong gapes at him, surprised. "We have never really done that together, so I thought it'd be good if we did," Seonghwa explains.

Hongjoong closes the refrigerator, wincing slightly at the unintended force he applies. Hongjoong swallows, considering Seonghwa's words.

It's just grocery shopping, but Hongjoong remembers the umpteen number of times Seonghwa had shot his offer down. It's not the best memory he has of them.

“You don’t have to come with me out of obligation, Seonghwa. It’s fine. Don’t force yourself,” Hongjoong says, turning away so that he can look anywhere except at Seonghwa.

The humiliation from months ago when Seonghwa had knocked on his door and asked him to stop inviting him out for grocery shopping together because he was uncomfortable is a fresh memory in Hongjoong’s head. There was something associated with the mundane task, enough for Seonghwa to be visibly torn up about it, that Hongjoong had shoved his feelings to the side and not prodded any further, nodding in quiet agreement and never bringing up the matter again.

Seonghwa’s arms pull him flush to his body, Hongjoong’s tense back relaxing as Seonghwa’s warmth bleeds through his t-shirt.

“I want to. I’m not forcing myself. I just… I don’t associate good things with it, Hongjoong. It may seem like a stupid thing to you, but it’s fucking triggering for me. I want to, though. I want to come with you. I want to  _ move on _ .”

Hongjoong has no idea what is happening except that Seonghwa’s words feel like he’s just opened himself up completely, like the walls have come crumbling down. He’s not vain enough to think that this is it, that there’s nothing more to Seonghwa, but he knows better. He nods and turns around in Seonghwa’s hold, pecking his lips lightly, smiling when Seonghwa’s hands wander to his waist as he kisses back with everything he’s got.

An hour later, they’re holding hands inside the grocery store a couple of blocks from their place.

Hongjoong knows there’s so much they need to talk about, starting from why something as insignificant as grocery shopping gets Seonghwa so tense, but he doesn’t ask, just holds Seonghwa’s hands tight like they’re wading through dead bodies in a battle field when all they’re doing is looking for milk and chips and trying to not have a break down in the middle of a grocery store. 

The cashier, the regular one, stares pointedly at their entwined hands and winks at Hongjoong. Seonghwa only glares back until Hongjoong squeezes their hands together and nudges him with his shoulder. Even if his glare loses a little intensity at it, the cashier still looks a bit nervous as he rings up their stuff, his eyes drifting to Seonghwa before he smiles lop-sidedly, anxious, at Hongjoong. 

It would have been funny if Hongjoong hadn’t been so focused on the tightening of Seonghwa’s hand in his. Seonghwa’s hand has started to sweat and Hongjoong can feel the quickening of Seonghwa’s breaths, his partner standing close enough for him to feel the quick puffs of breath hitting the exposed skin of his neck.

“Seonghwa?” Hongjoong can feel the blood circulation in his hand cut off for a second as Seonghwa squeezes it tight, but it’s only there for a moment before he lets go. Seonghwa screws his eyes shut and opens them, gaze flicking over the terrain of Hongjoong’s face like he’s saving it to memory.

Hongjoong grabs the grocery bag from the counter, barely protesting when Seonghwa drags them outside, his grip on his wrist borderline bruising.

“Promise me you’ll stay safe. No matter what happens. Tell me you’ll fight till the end,” Seonghwa pleads. It’s a sudden request. If Hongjoong tunes out the rest of the world now, he can imagine that they’re standing on a ledge together, that Seonghwa is asking him to not jump. 

The old couple who walks past them eyes them, judging, but Hongjoong doesn’t hesitate, placing his hand that is not holding the grocery bag on Seonghwa’s face, nodding emphatically.

Seonghwa doesn’t say anything, but Hongjoong doesn’t need him to because it’s clear, exactly what’s going on in Seonghwa’s head.

Hongjoong knows that one day Seonghwa will tell him about what has sent him into this pit of constant hypervigilance and anxiety.

Today may not be that day, but that’s okay.

It has to be.

Today, he’ll promise to keep himself safe because the possibility of him not doing so seems to be the only thing driving Seonghwa insane.

Today, he’ll hold Seonghwa’s hands and try his best to pull him out of whatever hell he is stuck in and even if he fails, he’ll let Seonghwa take him there instead so that he never has to be alone.

Seonghwa will  _ never _ be alone.

Hongjoong would make sure of it.

***

Hongjoong doesn’t know if Seonghwa has realized what was happening when he asked him out when they were cuddling on the couch the night before. Nonetheless, Hongjoong had nodded, pulling Seonghwa’s arms tighter around him. 

They’re on a date in a restaurant. They’re not strangers to this particular scenario, having had to sit in multiple restaurants in weirdly similar positions, as lookouts, as assassins, as agents who just wanted to collect information from the discussion going on in the table next to them. This, however, is the first time they’re on an actual date.

Their first date, Hongjoong thinks.

Seonghwa looks nervous, his fingers running through his styled black hair, the burgundy of his button-up shirt and the golden lighting in the restaurant making him absolutely ethereal. Hongjoong stares unabashedly. Seonghwa merely smiles back, his nervous expression softening like he is something precious, like he is the architect of this part of the world Seonghwa has somehow come to love, like Hongjoong’s hands have created the most beautiful things, like he has somehow saved him from some life-changing, terrifying event. 

Hongjoong tilts his head slightly, Seonghwa shifting in his seat and raising an eyebrow, but the quirk isn’t paired with infuriating confidence or intimidating intensity tonight. It’s only a testament to the same feeling that ties them together.

“You know what this is, right, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong asks, when Seonghwa’s hand creeps over the table to loop with Hongjoong’s own.

“This? Dinner,” Seonghwa says, looking a little confused, thumb still smoothing over Hongjoong’s hand.

Hongjoong smiles, letting it take on a teasing dimension. “It’s a date, Seonghwa,” he says, watching realization dawn on his face.

“Oh,” Seonghwa says, eloquently. “You don’t mind, do you?” Seonghwa asks, carefully observing Hongjoong’s reaction.

Hongjoong wonders how someone as smart as Seonghwa could be this dumb. 

“I’ve been in love with you for almost a year. What do you think?” Hongjoong asks, smiling softly.

Seonghwa’s eyes bear into his own with an intensity which makes it seem like he will pounce on him any moment now, but beneath the obvious desire is something Hongjoong has been so blind to all this time.

“Every time you say it, I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest. You’re too good to be true, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, his hands shaking a little, voice sad, like he’s scared that Hongjoong will take off at any instant.

“I’m too good to be true?” Hongjoong laughs. “You’re the one who is too good to be true, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong tucks a stray piece of hair which falls in front of his eyes behind his ear. His hair is in that awkward phase where it is just shy of being called too long. It is also black now, thanks to Seonghwa’s incredible dyeing skills and patience.

Seonghwa shakes his head, following the motion of Hongjoong’s hand with hungry eyes. “Let’s agree to disagree,” Seonghwa says, after a rather intense staring match.

The waiter interrupts them just as Hongjoong is about to go on yet another rant. It’s a young man in his early twenties from his looks, his voice polite as Hongjoong gestures at Seonghwa to go ahead and order for the both of them. Seonghwa doesn’t even bother to look at the menu as he rattles off their order. It’s with a startle that Hongjoong realizes that they always have the same food wherever they go, but that is no incentive to get him to take a risk because he’s also aware that none of them are too adventurous with food to go from their regular orders to something else. 

“Maybe one day we’ll be brave to try something other than japchae, chicken fried rice and bulgogi at a restaurant,” Hongjoong comments offhandedly.

Seonghwa chuckles lowly, warmth curling in the pit of Hongjoong’s stomach at the sound. “We do try other stuff when we’re outside the country,” he points out.

“That doesn’t count,” Hongjoong counters. Seonghwa seems like he agrees though, nodding as he sips water and sets the glass down.

They don’t lapse into forced small-talk as they wait for the food to arrive, but Hongjoong is suddenly reminded of something he thinks they should really talk about. He fidgets with his hands, Seonghwa’s gaze following every move he makes, but the other man doesn’t prod, giving him time to form the words.

“I will understand if you don’t want to label this or something but uh… what are we, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa doesn’t splutter with his words or choke on his breath like Hongjoong expects him to. Instead, he’s unnervingly calm even though he does raise his eyebrow as if he’s asking if it wasn’t clear enough in the first place.

“What do you want us to be?” Seonghwa asks, throwing a curveball that Hongjoong doesn’t see coming.

“Whatever you want us to be,” Hongjoong replies, throwing the ball right back into Seonghwa’s court.

Seonghwa leans forward, his eyes sparkling with the lights reflecting on his clear irises as he stares into Hongjoong’s eyes. “Everything. I want you to be my everything. Can you do that?”

Hongjoong feels his stomach drop as he realizes how much Seonghwa means those words. He nods with vigour, not trusting his voice to convey his happiness as he pointedly attempts to ignore the urge to sob. Seonghwa’s eyes are shiny as well and Hongjoong’s heart squeezes in his chest with the desire to give the man in front of him everything he is.

“I think boyfriend works,” Seonghwa says, half a second later, like he’s just realized that calling Hongjoong his everything wouldn’t be a very easy thing to explain to their friends. Hongjoong laughs loudly, his palm immediately coming up to cover his mouth even though they’re in a private dining room in the restaurant, with the only other customers being a boy and his family, a birthday party gang, he surmises from what he can see from where he’s seated.

Seonghwa could be the quietest person in the world, perhaps Hongjoong knew that more than most, but it’s during moments like this that Hongjoong melts at how the other didn’t need a profusion of words to turn him into a mess.

The food arrives around half an hour later when they switch up the conversation to the topic of mission reports. It doesn’t feel out of place though. Hongjoong chalks it up to how intricately woven the webs between their jobs and lives are.

A few minutes later, Hongjoong is on a challenge of his own to see how long he can go without feeling the urge to feed Seonghwa as the other struggles with lettuce and bulgogi. It reminds him of when he’d taken Seonghwa to the diner he frequented often, of how easy it had been to wrap the meat in lettuce and give it to Seonghwa when it was under the pretense of a cover.

“Does Wooyoung and San know?” Seonghwa asks, when they’re digging into the food. It’s a seemingly normal question that has materialized out of the blue, but Hongjoong can see how nervous Seonghwa is. 

Anyone who knew Hongjoong knew how much the pair’s opinion mattered to him so he thinks that it’s completely normal for Seonghwa to feel nervous, seeing that he didn’t know how fond both San and Wooyoung were of him. 

Hongjoong had had zero contact with the pair and Mingi after they’d gone on the mission. He’d called Eden a couple of times though, to check up on them, mostly because he knew that Wooyoung wasn’t in the best of mindsets to take up huge missions which would require complete commitment. It seemed that the mission was going fine though, as per Eden’s sources. It was against protocol for Eden to divulge information about ongoing missions, but it clearly spoke volumes about the trust he had in him that he told him everything he could about them, even going as far as to offering to pass on a message if he wanted. They’d had a minor complication apparently, but they were skilled enough that Hongjoong had set aside concern in favor of trust in their abilities.

“They’re on that mission with Mingi. I haven’t been able to talk to them yet,” Hongjoong says, ignoring the pang in his chest. He was too fond of his best friends and he couldn’t help but miss them even if they’d talked not so long ago. It’s probably how this month’s events have felt like he had been in a concrete mixer for ages that makes him miss them all the more, his emotional side taking severe hits before it finally began settling down with what happened at KQ’s parking lot.

Seonghwa hums, going back to fiddling with the lettuce, this time out of nervousness than lack of practice. Hongjoong shakes his head to himself and rolls some meat in lettuce and stretches his hand, Seonghwa going cross-eyed staring at the offered food. Hongjoong juts his chin in a gesture of silent encouragement as Seonghwa leans in and opens his mouth.

Hongjoong can feel a blush rising high on his cheeks, but it’s a solace to see that Seonghwa isn’t faring any better.

Hongjoong feels like he is being watched again when they’re having patbingsu after having finished the main course. He looks up to see Seonghwa watching him intensely again.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” he says and cringes as he remembers how many times he has heard Wooyoung and San say the same line to each other. He hopes that the embarrassment doesn’t show on his face.

“Maybe I should,” Seonghwa says, a beat passing.

“Maybe you should,” Hongjoong agrees in an attempt to evade Seonghwa’s attention focusing on him blushing again, aggressively shoving a spoonful of shaved ice and bean paste into his mouth, Seonghwa shaking his head in what Hongjoong can only call  _ fondness. _

It still manages to take him by surprise, how that works.

***

Hongjoong would be lying if he said that he didn’t expect Seonghwa to pin him against the door as soon as they’re home. On their way home, Seonghwa had placed a hand firmly on Hongjoong’s own and put it on top of the gear shift, not moving it even when traffic was being a bitch, Friday night luring out party animals and families planning outings. Despite the small teasing looks he sent him every now and then, Seonghwa had stopped promptly at all the red lights, using the time to rub a hand comfortingly on Hongjoong’s thighs even if he was pretty sure that Seonghwa knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re a tease,” Hongjoong says as he pulls a fistful of Seonghwa’s hair, enough to have Seonghwa biting his lip in sweet vengeance.

“I am the tease? Do you know how fucking hot you look?” Seonghwa pants, pulling away to say the words, their lips brushing before he lets go to drown back in Hongjoong again. Hongjoong moans as he tries to free his hand from Seonghwa’s grip, Seonghwa pulling away from the kiss to ask him if he really wanted to let go, Hongjoong changing his mind in the last moment as he lurches forward into Seonghwa to melt into another kiss. Seonghwa slips a hand under his shirt and smooths his thumb over the sensitive skin of his waist, Hongjoong moaning loudly into his mouth. Seonghwa still tastes like shaved ice, a little spiciness underneath the sweetness and something so unabashedly Seonghwa which makes Hongjoong lick more into his mouth as Seonghwa does the same to him. 

Seonghwa slips one leg into the space between Hongjoong’s thighs, Hongjoong whining at the tiny gasp Seonghwa lets out at the moan he manages to pull out of him, the contact sparking all his nerve endings with pleasure. He nearly hiccups when Seonghwa’s fingers ride down as he dips them into his waistband, rubbing the sensitive skin of his V line, just thumbing at the skin and tracing it as he alternates between kissing Hongjoong’s lips and biting at his neck, tiny nips, his teeth just the perfect amount of sharp for things to stay exciting. 

“Bed,” they say at the same time, laughing into each other’s mouth at being in sync.

Hongjoong can’t believe how easy it is to be with Seonghwa like this, it’s like they’ve been together for ages, like their bodies were always meant to be close to each other like this.

Hongjoong takes his shoes off as Seonghwa does the same, groaning loudly at how Seonghwa leans down to arrange the pair on the stand, his OCD tendencies kicking in.

“Sorry,” Seonghwa mumbles, pecking Hongjoong on the lips as he straightens up. Hongjoong nods in understanding, cradling Seonghwa’s cheek with one hand as he leans towards the touch, pulling his hand to his mouth to press a kiss on the centre of his palm. Hongjoong shivers at the touch.

Seonghwa lets their entwined hands fall into the space between them, a subdued smile on his face as he leads Hongjoong further into the hallway. Hongjoong follows along, head a little loopy on a combination of euphoria and desire. Hongjoong is feeling particularly great tonight so he turns himself a little and walks backwards, Seonghwa smiling at him as his lips lift in a coy smile. 

One moment Seonghwa’s smiling at him with the fondest look on his face and the next his gaze focuses on something behind Hongjoong just as they reach the living room. Hongjoong finds himself being pulled behind Seonghwa as Seonghwa immediately reaches a hand to his back pocket to grab his gun, one hand still keeping Hongjoong behind him.

There’s a man on the couch, dressed in all black, a heavy black parka making him look like he had just stepped out of a winter magazine. There’s an empty bag of chips in his hands which he puts down as he stares at the gun Seonghwa has pointed at him. His gaze and posture is relaxed, almost like he doesn’t see them as a threat. Only his eyes and blonde hair are visible, a black mask covering the lower half of his face. The window to the balcony is open when Hongjoong dares to let his gaze stray away from the men in an attempt to see if there are any other intruders. He also pointedly ignores it when his brain provides that the man must have scaled the four floors of their complex to get into their home.

“Who the fuck are you?” Seonghwa grits, taking a step forward, inadvertently dragging Hongjoong forward. Hongjoong is secretly panicking over not taking his Glock when they went out tonight, but he’s also glad that Seonghwa’s caution has paid off tonight.

The man keeps his gaze steady, not backing down.

“ As hot as that was, I'm not here for that,” the man says, pulling down his mask, his handsome features curving with the force of a grin.

Hongjoong doesn’t understand why the grin on his face is so unnerving.

Seonghwa shoves the gun back in his pocket, letting the grip on Hongjoong’s hand loosen. Hongjoong feels all the tension leave the air and he looks at Seonghwa feeling a little lost, feeling like he’s out of the loop.

“Hongjoong, this is Yeosang, my best friend,” Seonghwa says, running a hand through his hair.

The man, Yeosang, waves at him from the couch, getting up and walking towards them with a smirk on his face. He reaches behind Seonghwa and pulls the gun right out of his pocket and sniffs the barrel, smirk widening.

Hongjoong’s gaze follows the motion, keeping down the jealousy that threatens to rise at how Seonghwa doesn’t even flinch at the tad too intimate touch.

“You’ve been busy,” Yeosang says to Seonghwa. Hongjoong feels like he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be.

“Says you,” Seonghwa responds before he looks at Hongjoong, putting out a hand, palm facing the ceiling, a soft smile sent his way. Hongjoong lets their hands connect, Yeosang watching carefully before he full on giggles.

“Yeosang, this is Hongjoong, my boyfriend and partner,” Seonghwa says, smiling at their entwined hands as Yeosang claps his hands together in what Hongjoong with his years of experience on the job can recognize as genuine excitement. Distantly, Hongjoong registers that this is the first time they’ve introduced each other as being in a relationship to an outsider and he just knows that Wooyoung and San will forever hold this over his head. He grimaces internally.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hongjoong says, shaking Yeosang’s hands. The man’s hand has callouses, familiar ones and Hongjoong knows for certain that he’s definitely working in the same field as them.

As if reading his mind, Seonghwa says, “He’s in the elite squad.”

That explained the way his soft, almost whimsical beauty didn’t quite vibe with the look in his eyes. For a moment, Hongjoong feels sympathy for Yeosang but he doesn’t show it, somehow knowing instinctively that it wouldn’t be appreciated. The man reminded him vaguely of San, just his general gait and his smile edging on the line between manic and respectable.

“I’m sorry for helping myself to some chips. Haven’t scaled a complex in a while,” Yeosang says, the look on his face anything but apologetic.

“You could have just called,” Seonghwa points out quickly and it’s clear that there’s a no-bullshit rule which is the foundation for this friendship.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your little date,” Yeosang says, smirking again.

Seonghwa grabs the bridge of his nose and Hongjoong tilts his head in confusion at how Yeosang knew they were on a date.

“Okay,” Seonghwa breathes out like he’s trying to calm himself down, “Help me out here. How long have you been in Seoul?”

Yeosang giggles as he plops on the couch, his blonde hair fanning out against the cushions.

“Throw me a bone, Sangie,” Seonghwa pleads, but there’s barely concealed frustration underneath, mixed with a strain of immense affection.

“A week and a half,” Yeosang replies, like he’s taken pity on Seonghwa.

Seonghwa’s gaze sharpens as he looks at Yeosang with a look screaming betrayal. 

“A week and a half? You asshole! Did you enjoy watching me run around like a headless chicken at the party trying to look for you?” 

Seonghwa sounds equal parts angry and disappointed. Hongjoong puts a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down, understanding dawning that the friend Seonghwa had gone to see at the party had been Yeosang. Yeosang merely shrugs.

“You know me. Don’t pretend like this is new, hyung,” Yeosang says, an edge to his voice, which loses all its pointedness when affection blends in his voice as he says the honorific. He’s younger than Seonghwa, Hongjoong realizes. By the look on Seonghwa’s face, it didn’t seem like he was fooling anyone either.

“You’ve been away for months, Sangie,” Seonghwa says and Hongjoong clears his throat, wracking his brain for an excuse that can get him out of here so that he can leave the friends to talk properly.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but uhm... I can get you something while you guys are talking. Is tea or coffee okay? Or do you want something else?” Hongjoong asks, fiddling with his hands.

Yeosang stares at him for a moment that stretches on for too long before his blank face finally splits into a small smile. “Coffee, three sugars,” he says.

Hongjoong waves at Seonghwa as he speed-walks to the kitchen, taking a deep breath as he leans against the counter and composes himself. His brain is still reeling from going through the whirlwind of emotions of being turned on to the point of suffering, of the adrenaline that had kicked in when he realized there was an intruder, some unwarranted jealousy and just wanting to disappear so that Seonghwa could talk with his best friend.

_ Too much _ , Hongjoong thinks.

Making coffee is a nice buffer time for his brain, hands going through the mechanical motions before he switches the coffeemaker on. He doesn’t even register it as the pot is already almost full when Seonghwa slinks in behind him, his arms around his waist. Hongjoong relaxes in his hold, closing his eyes and letting his neck curve over his shoulder for a second before he spins around in his hold. Seonghwa’s eyes are slightly reddish, like he’d been crying and Hongjoong wipes under his eyes, even though there are no visible tears. Seonghwa grasps his wrist and peers into his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“For?” Hongjoong asks, hands adjusting the collar of Seonghwa’s shirt, the fabric reminding him of how just minutes ago, he’d felt it drag over his neck.

“This night wasn’t supposed to go like this,” Seonghwa says, wetting his lips.

Hongjoong nods. “I know, but he’s your best friend. It’s okay.”

Seonghwa doesn’t let him go, walking him backwards to reach for the switch to turn off the coffeemaker.

“Is he staying?” Hongjoong asks, when Seonghwa finally lets him go after a tight embrace. 

“Yeah, he offered to stay at a hotel or at one of the safehouses. It didn’t seem right, though,” Seonghwa says and pauses, like he’s reliving a memory from the past and contemplating whether or not to tell Hongjoong. It seems like he chooses the latter option because he nods to himself and says, “Back when we joined KQ, he used to stay with me. He was away for long on missions all the time though. He had the key to my apartment but uh… since I don’t use it anymore, there’s no point in sending him here. I don’t even know when I’ll see him next. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before offering, Hongjoong.”

“It’s  _ our _ apartment, Seonghwa, and your friends are my friends too. He’s welcome to stay as long as he wants to.”

Seonghwa nods, a grateful look taking over his face. Hongjoong pours the coffee into the cups, putting the sugar in and stirring. He turns on his heel with the tray balanced in his hands, knowing Seonghwa will follow him into the living room when Yeosang enters the kitchen. His face is blank, so unreadable that it was giving Hongjoong war flashbacks to back when he’d met Seonghwa, and for a moment, he feels sadness take home in his chest because he doesn’t know if Yeosang has someone other than Seonghwa to love him. As someone who’d waited all his life to find someone to love, though not actively or consciously, a part of Hongjoong aches when his observations tell him that Yeosang probably doesn’t have anyone like that.

Hongjoong sets the tray down.

“Eden wouldn’t give me Seonghwa’s address and his old number is dead now. I needed to surprise him and since there was no other way out, I tracked your phone,” Yeosang blurts and Hongjoong feels his eyebrows meet his hairline. His personal number had a shitton of security tech voodoo that Yunho and Mingi had configured for him. No one was supposed to be able to track it, but the damage is done and Hongjoong knows better than to think that anything was a hundred percent foolproof. Instead of slipping into interrogation mode, he asks, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Seonghwa asked me to apologize for tracking your phone without your permission,” Yeosang says, sending a seething look towards Seonghwa who merely shrugs in response.

“Okay,” Hongjoong says, dragging the syllable out. “You haven’t apologized yet,” Hongjoong points out. If Hongjoong’s being honest, he isn’t expecting an apology from Yeosang. He didn’t look like the type who would apologize for things he didn’t consider to be of a great magnitude anyway, and if Hongjoong has learned anything, it’s that people who held onto their pride were always the ones who were hurting beyond belief. Yeosang, he thinks, deserves to be cut some slack.

“I’m not going to,” Yeosang says, leaning over the counter instead of circling it to grab a cup of coffee, a smirk curling the ends of his mouth.

“You don’t have to,” Hongjoong says, finding himself meaning it, watching the smirk fall right off of Yeosang’s face before he schools his expression right back up.

“You’re keeping him, Seonghwa,” Yeosang says, directing the words solely at Seonghwa like Hongjoong isn’t right there in the room with them.

Seonghwa nods, a hand curling around Hongjoong’s waist, Yeosang’s eyes following the motion, eyes warm before the warmth flickers and dies like it’s a reflex. It’s only his field instincts which help him figure that Yeosang isn’t used to showing so much of his emotion outwards.

It’s kind of sad once Hongjoong thinks about it, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Looking to his side and the small smile which seemed to be a constant on Seonghwa’s face on their good days, Hongjoong wonders if he’s wrong about this one particular thing, if he could really do something about it.

Maybe he could.

***

“Did he tell you?”

Hongjoong hears and he startles, his delirious sleepy-self forgetting the presence of a third person in their apartment. He’s glad that his body doesn’t react visibly, too attuned to controlling reactions that even when his guard is completely down, it hinders his ability to respond like a normal person would.

Yeosang is sitting on the couch. The lights aren’t on, but the moon is hanging high up in the sky and the balcony door is open meaning that moonlight streams inside the living room, enough to illuminate Yeosang’s silhouette.

Hongjoong opens his eyes wider to make his vision accommodate quicker to the darkness.

Seonghwa is asleep in his bed, completely unaware of how Hongjoong had toiled for a few minutes to slip from the bed to get some water from the kitchen, having woken up from a nightmare to find himself sweating buckets. Yeosang had been given Hongjoong’s room, not that he was using it these past couple of days anyway. The guest room had required a huge clean up and neither Hongjoong nor Seonghwa were up for it tonight, so it’s a valid question his mind raises as to why Yeosang is lounging in the living room instead of in bed and sleeping.

Still reeling from the nightmare, it takes a moment for Hongjoong to realize that Yeosang has asked him a question. He settles down on the other end of the couch, a respectable distance away from the agent.

“Tell me what?” Hongjoong asks, already missing Seonghwa’s warmth.

Yeosang turns to him and Hongjoong’s eyes have adjusted better to the darkness that he can catch a glimpse of the slight discoloration on the side of his cheek that he’d noticed earlier in the night.

“Why he is like this,” Yeosang says, like Hongjoong’s supposed to know, his gaze flicking over his face in question.

“You don’t know, do you?” Yeosang asks.

Hongjoong shakes his head.

“Do you want to know?” It’s a series of questions, too ambiguous for Hongjoong’s fuzzy head to figure out.

Yeosang’s face is blank and this could easily be a test, but it doesn’t seem like it. He wasn’t in the Joseon era for potential alliances to be chosen based on multiple tests. Neither Seonghwa nor Hongjoong are from rich, influential families and there’s also yet another reason why this analogy will never work, considering how they were both clearly interested in each other. He doesn’t think that his ancestors would happily marry a man off to another man. They weren’t that progressive then. They still weren’t. But, that’s another story altogether.

His sleep-addled brain is clearly finding it fun to drag his thoughts through the weirdest terrains, but Hongjoong puts his foot down and pulls himself together.

“I don’t,” he says.

“That’s kind of harsh,” Yeosang says, laughing, but the sound is venomous like Hongjoong has just made the wrong choice.

“I don’t want to know about it if Seonghwa doesn’t want me to know about it. If he wants to tell me, I’ll listen but it would feel wrong to hear it from you,” Hongjoong explains.

He’s curious, obviously, but he’s also an adult who knows better than to lend an ear to Yeosang and listen to whatever trials Seonghwa has gone through. Come tomorrow morning, he’ll be forced to pretend like he doesn’t know anything in front of Seonghwa and he doesn’t want to do that. It’s better like this. Hongjoong doesn’t have to know the reason to hold Seonghwa close when he’s in pain. It would help if he knew what happened, but it also isn’t something that he absolutely  _ needs _ to know to help Seonghwa.

“You’re an idiot,” Yeosang blurts and his voice is low, dangerous if Hongjoong listens to the undertone.

“You think your fucked up morals will help you, but they aren’t going to. He’s going to drive himself off of a cliff and it’s going to be on you when you realize you had a chance, that you never took it,” Yeosang continues and Hongjoong is taken aback because merely a couple of hours ago, Seonghwa had been asked by Yeosang to  _ keep _ Hongjoong and now the very same man was telling him he’s going to watch the only man he loves run himself dry.

“I’m not sure I understand where you’re coming from, but I do know that I’d rather die before I let him do that,” Hongjoong says, mind flashing to one particular ledge and countless breakdowns.

“You don’t get it, Hongjoong,” Yeosang pauses, “He’s never talked about this to anyone. He’d just taken a gun and dealt with the aftermath in whatever ways he could. He’d killed himself over and over in his head. I’ll bet my life that he’s still doing it. He’ll need all the support he can get, but he’s a fucking stubborn idiot and when he falls apart, I assure you he  _ will _ , even if he attempts to push you away, push everyone he loves away, you need to be there for him. For that, you  _ need _ to  _ know _ , and this game you’re playing of being the righteous man, that isn’t gonna help him and if Seonghwa has his way, he’s never going to tell you.”

Yeosang gets up from the couch when his pager beeps, but he looks down at it and smiles, like it is a love letter and not an emergency call for help, face doing a one-eighty from barely concealed anger to something Hongjoong can’t quite pinpoint, the expression gone before he can crack it. 

“He trusts you, Hongjoong. And because he does, I do too. So, when the time comes, you need to be prepared and put yourself first, no matter what. I don’t think Seonghwa can take a replay of the past.” 

Yeosang’s gaze is harsh on his face but it’s uninhibited, like he isn’t worried about Hongjoong liking or not liking him, like judgement isn’t something that scares him.

“It’s easy to see he loves you and that you feel the same way about him. You make each other happy but this initial happiness, it’s gonna fade away and you won’t even know how far he’s gone until he’s smoke in front of you. Seonghwa will freeze the world for you,” Yeosang says. Hongjoong will set the world on fire for him, he thinks. Yeosang continues, “But that won’t be enough because at one point he’s going to realize that him not being happy with himself is tearing you apart. When that happens, you need to know everything to tether him down because as calm as he seems outside, he can be stubborn as fuck. He’s going to make stupid decisions which will inevitably drag him down deeper. None of us want that to happen. Give it some serious thought. My offer will still be open should you choose to know.”

Yeosang’s words ring with warning.

“And just so you know, I didn’t come here with good news. And when Eden finally calls you up and if you’re still acting like an idiot by then, I’ll know exactly what to do.”

Hongjoong gulps, nodding as Yeosang leans against the glass window in the balcony, his pager still clutched tightly in his fist like there is some unfathomable meaning behind it. A part of him wants to ask Yeosang to go inside, to tell him that he’ll catch a cold, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be receptive, so he just lets out a defeated sigh and shakes his head.

Hongjoong turns away, slowly walking to Seonghwa’s room, both to give Yeosang the privacy he obviously needs and to give himself time to ponder upon the ambiguity of Yeosang’s words despite all the warning lacing it. He doesn't sleep the rest of the night, his fingers absent-mindedly curling in Seonghwa's hair.

***

Morning comes in the form of both his and Seonghwa’s phones ringing consecutively, Hongjoong’s before Seonghwa’s. Seonghwa stirs with the noise, jolting up, Hongjoong being none so gently pushed away in favor of his boyfriend’s panic to get to his phone. Hongjoong groans, voice heavy from sleep, watching Seonghwa’s phone stop ringing as he picks it up. 

Hongjoong’s phone begins to ring as if on cue and he blindly gropes around the bedside table, looking at the caller ID, Eden’s name sobering him right up, Yeosang’s words from the night before echoing in the recesses of his mind.

“Hello,” Hongjoong mumbles into the phone, and Seonghwa frowns at him from where he’s standing next to the table, sleep still clinging to his face, a small strain of accusation on his face like he already knows Hongjoong is hiding something from him.

Eden is silent for a moment before he speaks. Hongjoong sits up. “Get to the office. Bring Seonghwa.”

Hongjoong feels his heart speed up in panic. “Is it a mission, hyung?”

“It is, but it’s not that simple. I need to talk to Seonghwa.”

Eden sounds uncertain and concerned, and it’s worrying. “Should I give him the phone?” Hongjoong asks.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll talk to him when you get here,” Eden replies, hanging up quickly, the beep signalling the call cutting off making Hongjoong flinch internally.

“We need to go to the office,” Hongjoong says, rubbing a hand over his face as he drops the phone on the pillow. Seonghwa nods. “Is it a mission?” 

“Yeah, but he said he needed to talk to you,” Hongjoong says, heartbeat quickening in response to his anxiety over Eden and Yeosang’s cryptic words. Seonghwa doesn’t look like he’s taking this too seriously. Hongjoong wishes that he was blissfully unaware too, but as per Yeosang, that seemed to be the problem.

“Hongjoong, are you okay?” Seonghwa asks, walking closer to the bed. Hongjoong nods, getting up as he plasters on a small smile.

Seonghwa frowns skeptically but doesn’t call him out on it.

They get ready together, the quiet stretching between them. Seonghwa leans in and presses a soft kiss on his forehead just as he’s about to open the door.

“What was that for?” Hongjoong asks, hands crawling up Seonghwa’s shirt to land on his shoulder, feeling exhausted even if it’s only the morning.

“Just felt like it,” Seonghwa says, his hand on Hongjoong’s waist rubbing soothing circles over his shirt.

Hongjoong rises on his toes to press a soft kiss on the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth, Seonghwa crouching a little to accommodate his height.

It’s a very domestic thing to do and the realization isn’t much of a revelation if he’s being honest. Nonetheless, it makes something like gratitude and happiness warm him from the inside.

When they open the door, stepping out into the living room, Yeosang is already there on the couch, sitting in the exact position he had been sitting in the night before. If not for his change of clothes, it would have been a scarily accurate replay of yesterday night. He’s all ready to go, blonde hair parted in the middle which falls perfectly back into place as he runs his hair through it. 

Yeosang waves at them, leaning back on the couch and putting one leg on top of the other.

“All ready to go?” He asks, and the smile on his face doesn’t match the look in his eyes.

Seonghwa sighs audibly next to Hongjoong. “You’re coming,” Seonghwa says, clearly frustrated.

“Of course, I am,” Yeosang replies, his smile fading back into the blank look. 

Hongjoong throws Seonghwa a look that he hopes is calming enough and it seems to do the trick because Seonghwa’s shoulders slump as he walks to the door, crouching next to the door to put on his shoes. 

“Chin up, Hongjoong,” Yeosang says, hovering next to Hongjoong before he veers away from him and follows Seonghwa.

***

Yeosang’s constant ranting is what occupies Hongjoong’s ears during the entirety of the drive to the office. He goes on and on about Moscow and shitty agents and the new additions to his weapons collection. Seonghwa listens patiently, as does Hongjoong, because like this, seeing the younger man flail his arms around and talk like an excited puppy, this is a nice reminder that he’s clearly not someone who can be put inside a box and be labelled. Hongjoong tries to contribute to the conversation whenever he can but other than that, he just stays mostly silent, choosing to listen rather than rant away.

It is only when they make a pit stop at the cafe a couple of miles away from their place that Yeosang stops talking, like his thought process has halted suddenly as Hongjoong asks him which drink he wants to get.

Hongjoong waves a hand in front of Yeosang, looking at Seonghwa with concern when Yeosang just stares. Yeosang turns to him slowly.

“A caramel macchiato and whatever you’re getting,” he says, like he never stopped talking in the first place. Hongjoong nods, mentally jotting it down.

Hongjoong notes the way Seonghwa is staring at the younger man in confusion.

“Yeosang, you hate caramel. You told me you’d throw me from the top of the Moscow headquarters if I ever got you anything caramel as a prank.”

This is a new development, Hongjoong realizes, as incredulity and disbelief drips from Seonghwa’s voice.

“Maybe it was an acquired taste,” Yeosang says, and it’s curt enough that Seonghwa doesn’t prod further. 

“Are you going to stay here or get us something to eat? My horoscope asked me to not eat anyone out today,” Yeosang says, smirking, the curve bordering on lewd.

It’s intentionally done to make Hongjoong uncomfortable, he realizes. It’s a pity, Hongjoong thinks, that his poker face game was strong.

“Yeosang!” Seonghwa exclaims.

“Calm down, I’m not going to touch your man.”

Hongjoong awkwardly hovers with half his torso inside the car before he nods and shuts the door behind him. He knows a clear dismissal when he sees it.

***

Eden’s a complete mess. His hair is dull, the usual lustre of the long strands dead as he uses both his hands to clear them out of his face, groaning in frustration when they fall back on his face. Hongjoong clears his throat but Eden pays them no heed, opening the drawers of his desk like a madman, making a small noise of victory as he uses a metal hair bow to push his hair out of his face.

“Sit down,” Eden says, the first real acknowledgement since the grunt they’d received when they’d knocked on the door. Hongjoong settles down in the chair in the middle, Yeosang and Seonghwa on either side of him.

It’s clear that he has a lot to say today.

The senior agent glares at Yeosang. “When I told you to find Seonghwa yourself, I didn’t mean that you could wreck KQ’s entire security grid while you were at it, Yeosang,” he says, voice admonishing.

“Wreck what? I only added some reinforcements to it,” Yeosang says, shrugging.

“Is that why Yunho ran in panic to me to tell me that Game over was flashing on his screen in Russian?” Eden asks, his voice deadly calm, but Yeosang doesn’t seem bothered at all.

“No one said I couldn’t have any fun while I did it,” Yeosang leans back in his chair as he says it, not looking apologetic at all. Hongjoong briefly feels for Eden because not many people in their close circle, including himself, seemed to treat the agent with the respect he deserved.

Eden’s also a very capable agent who could upend their entire careers in a trashcan so if he was letting them do this, he figures that there must be some sort of positive emotion working behind it, even though the death glare directed at Yeosang wasn’t the best piece of evidence he could find for that at the moment.

“Can we just cut to the chase?” Seonghwa asks, clearly frustrated with the conversation dragging on without any clue as to why they were here. “Hongjoong told me you wanted to talk to me, so talk.”

Eden sighs, rolling his chair back as he sat on it, opening a drawer on his right. He pulls a black file, thick in KQ standards and slides it across the table to Seonghwa. Hongjoong has the urge to peek into the file as Seonghwa flips it open but he doesn’t, instead focusing on the glass paperweight on top of Eden’s desk. Seonghwa is quiet as he looks through it. Yeosang lets out an incredulous laugh from beside Hongjoong and it is so obviously meant for Hongjoong, but he doesn’t rise to the bait.

Hongjoong feels Seonghwa tense beside him, the pace of the page flipping quickening before he slams it shut and throws it on the table like it was burning his hands.

“No,” Seonghwa says and his voice is low and dangerous, almost murderous. Hongjoong knows him too well though because he can sense the underlying tone of betrayal and defeat.

“I’m sorry, Seonghwa,” Eden says and his eyes are shining like he’s about to tear up, but he blinks and it’s gone.

Seonghwa gets up quickly, the chair rolling away with the force. “You told me it was over. You promised me, you fucking asshole. I was done with this. I thought I was done, do you get that?” Seonghwa points an accusing finger at Eden. 

“I thought I was done with  _ all _ the crap associated with it! I cleaned up  _ everything _ for you, for all the fuckers who didn’t give a damn about him. I went out there and I didn’t ask for any help from this fucking selfish company or its minions and I did it, all of it, when I was delirious and dying from guilt and shame and grief!”

Seonghwa slams a hand on the desk, the sound making Hongjoong worry for his hands.

“You had one job. To keep him in jail. Now he’s out,” Seonghwa slows down, voice breaking, “Eden, he fucking escaped from  _ jail _ ! How does that work, huh? He knows me! He knows my face! He knows my name and where I used to live and who I work for! He knows everything about me! I thought I was done living in the past. Now what the fuck am I supposed to do!”

Hongjoong gets up, placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him down but Seonghwa gives him a look before it turns to a pained grimace.

“Fuck! I know I shouldn’t have. I knew! God, I knew I shouldn’t have gone forward with this,” Seonghwa says, pulling at his hair, eyes wild with fear and anger.

Yeosang is still a statue on the chair, watching Seonghwa break down without any emotion on his face. Hongjoong turns to him before he looks at Seonghwa again. Hongjoong tries to hold his hand, but Seonghwa pushes him away.

“Hongjoong, you need to leave. He’s going to find me and I’m not going to let someone else die for me, especially not you!”

Hongjoong looks around in confusion, Eden and Yeosang not helping with explaining anything.

“Seonghwa, you need to calm down. We can figure this out,” Eden says, his palms held in front of him in a placating gesture.

“Calm down? Figure this out? Is that why everyone except Yeosang and I on the task force are dead? How long has he been out, huh?” 

Seonghwa is seething with anger as words which make no sense to Hongjoong continue to spew from his mouth.

“Five months. The police kept it under wraps. We’re guessing he paid them a hefty amount. The higher ups didn’t want to draw conclusions. It was only recently that I was contacted regarding this matter because of some emails a board member received.”

Eden looks legitimately lost, fear swimming in his eyes, his voice threatening to give way even as he tries to keep it under control.

“Five fucking months! Eight people died, Eden! Eight of your best agents! Eight people who had friends and family and people who loved them! Who am I kidding? We’re all disposable to you anyway,” Seonghwa yells, his voice dissipating to a raw croak at the end. He turns to Yeosang, gently pushing Hongjoong aside. Hongjoong goes willingly, still not having a clue about anything, brain working on overdrive to glue the pieces together so that he can get a full picture of what’s going on.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Seonghwa asks.

“I did,” Yeosang admits, but his voice is blank just like his face, bare and empty like he didn’t care about anything anymore.

Seonghwa laughs, but there’s nothing happy about it.

“Is that why you came?” Seonghwa spits the question like Yeosang has betrayed him in the highest degree. Yeosang stays silent, and Seonghwa nods to himself like this is answer enough.

“Show him the email,” Yeosang says to Eden.

“Yeosang,” Eden calls in warning.

“We came here for this today. Show him the fucking email, Eden. God knows you’ve kept this from him for long enough,” Yeosang says, a sort of controlled anger lacing his voice.

Eden clenches his fist before he pulls another file and throws it across the table.

This time, there’s no way that Hongjoong can keep himself away from the contents because the file opens with the force with which it is thrown. Hongjoong feels the distant urge to empty his stomach’s contents at the pictures inside.

It’s from the club. Both Seonghwa and he are naked in the pictures, and Hongjoong stops breathing as he flicks the pages, tens of pictures of them from the club, the diner, their parking lot, everywhere they’ve gone in the past month except for the last week surfacing as photographic proof in front of him.

Seonghwa gasps as he sees the pictures, slamming the file closed before he throws it on the wall next to them.

“Eden,” Hongjoong calls, “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s someone Seonghwa knows. A complete maniacal monster.. He has been following you around and this,” Eden leans down to pick up the file, “is a taunt, a warning.”

“There was a message for us inside the mail too, Seonghwa,” Yeosang says, still remaining seated.

“What message?” Seonghwa asks.

Eden tears a page from the file and hands it to Seonghwa.

It’s a grotesque image of a mutilated body over which the words “Do you wanna play a game, dear darling Seonghwa? Bring your fox along” is written in clean, cursive handwriting using what Hongjoong assumes is a white marker pen. The fox mentioned in the note must be Yeosang, Hongjoong figures.

“Wait, how did he get the pictures from the club?” Hongjoong asks, mind flashing to how Seonghwa had offered to delete the security footage after they were done and he had been busy calming Jongho down. 

“Seonghwa, you deleted the security cam footage, didn’t you?” 

Seonghwa nods, “I did. I wiped the drive too.”

Hongjoong breathes deeply, trying to figure out how it could be that the man who was hunting Yeosang and Seonghwa got his hands on these photos from the security footage.

“Hongjoong, we have reason to believe that the mafia who ran the drug cartel used to be close associates of the man in question. In the mission report, you mentioned how Jinho got a phone call from a source. That very well might have been him or some lackey who recognized Seonghwa and reported back to him.”

“Eden, are you saying that the mission was compromised?” Hongjoong asks, blinking in disbelief.

“Not till the last day,” Eden says but, Yeosang cuts him off.

“Last day, first day, it doesn’t matter. Why else would twenty men wait for you in the club, armed, when they could have easily ran away the moment they knew something was wrong?” Yeosang asks, laughing. “You were lucky, that’s all. Didn’t you even wonder how easy it was for you to take them out or were you too happy from the adrenaline rush of saving people to know that something was wrong? Did morals fuck up your field skills, Hongjoong? Did your savior complex blur your vision?”

Yeosang’s words are brutal, but they’re also a reality check Hongjoong needs. Seonghwa shakes his head in denial and disbelief. 

“It’s my fault. Before we shot the last man, you asked me if the man was lying. You were doubtful. I should have just listened before I jumped to conclusions. We could have figured this out sooner. Fuck,” Seonghwa swears, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What’s the game plan now?” Hongjoong asks, figuring that someone has to ask this question in the face of impending devastation. He doesn’t know anything about the man behind this fucked up plan, neither does he know what happened to Seonghwa or why he’s reacting the way he is, but when Hongjoong told Yeosang that he really didn’t care for the reasons, he meant it.

Seonghwa could ask him to jump and Hongjoong would merely ask how high.

“You’re awfully calm for someone who just realized their boyfriend’s past is a can of worms coming back with a vengeance.” Yeosang’s words are marked with an odd kind of skepticism, but Hongjoong ignores responding in favor of looking to Eden for direction.

“We tracked him to the warehouse in Gangnam. He’s been stationary for the past three days. The guys I sent for recon told me that it looked like he was waiting for something. He hasn’t been going outside, but they confirmed that he was there. A couple of henchmen too,” Eden says, sounding guilty.

“He’s waiting for us,” Seonghwa says, voice hollow.

“What does he want from you, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong asks, stepping closer to him.

“He wants to ruin me, Hongjoong. Take everything I’ve ever had. I’m the only one who knows where the deeds to his gang’s property are. He needs me to get access to that and other than that, there’s some history and we have… scores to level.”

Hongjoong can see the visible effort with which Seonghwa is attempting to not give away hints to Hongjoong. It’s frustrating, but Hongjoong forces himself to stay calm.

“What was he in jail for?” Hongjoong asks, curious.

“Drug dealing, some white collar fraud and a hit and run,” Yeosang answers from his chair.

“Wait up, how did that happen? All of you were talking about him like he was a complete psycho who went on a murdering spree every now and then,” Hongjoong says, confusion dripping from his voice.

“He’s the smartest man I’ve gone against, Hongjoong. Prostitution, human trafficking, drug dealing, murder, you name it, he did it, but he also had an alibi for everything and if it wasn’t for… if it wasn’t for our team, he would have walked free.”

Hongjoong doesn’t miss the marked pause in Seonghwa’s words but he doesn’t ask, nodding in acknowledgement.

“What’s the mission then?” Hongjoong directs the question at Eden.

“KQ wants you to go in, offer him his property and bring him back,” Eden says, Seonghwa’s head raising quickly to protest against the last statement when Eden puts a hand up, “Dead or alive, Seonghwa. No need to go easy this time.”

Hongjoong feels the room go cold at the look that crawls up Seonghwa’s face. It’s with an anxious skip of his heartbeat that Hongjoong notes that this is the first time Seonghwa has looked like a cold-blooded killer.

“When?” Hongjoong asks Eden, but it is Yeosang who answers.

“As soon as possible.”

***

Seonghwa stays behind in Eden’s office after they've gone through the details and figured a way out of this mess. A careful look is thrown Hongjoong’s way before Seonghwa speaks up, “Do you mind if I talk to him for a bit?”

Hongjoong shakes his head, knowing that there were obviously some things they had to deal with and talk about without Hongjoong in the room, especially if Seonghwa didn’t want Hongjoong to know every detail going into this.

Yeosang follows him out the door.

“Shouldn’t you have stayed?” Hongjoong asks.

Yeosang shakes his head.

“And watch two alpha males have a sappy heart to heart? No thanks.”

“Is he gonna be okay?” Hongjoong asks as he follows Yeosang who’s suddenly walking a little quicker than Hongjoong’s used to, his feet struggling to catch up with the other's quicker pace. 

“No,” Yeosang says, halting in his tracks before he leaps at Hongjoong, his hand going around Hongjoong’s throat in a vice grip. It’s unexpected, and the worst scenarios flash inside Hongjoong’s head as Yeosang’s grip doesn’t give out despite his struggles and muffled screams. Hongjoong tries every evasive tactic possible to slip out of his hold, and it’s with a muffled groan of pain that he is reminded of how every trainer at KQ only taught them to trap their targets with unique methods, but never taught them how to escape from them when it was used by their agents against their own.

Yeosang drags him to the nearest door, Hongjoong’s feet barely touching the floor, the other's height a huge advantage in this case scenario. His brain is trying its best to shut down under the chokehold, trauma kicking in before adrenaline can. Hongjoong can feel himself lose consciousness from the lack of air when his mind finally steers away from panic to the sound plan to turn in Yeosang’s hold and do a roundabout kick, but Yeosang lets him go as soon as the door slams shut behind them.

“What the fuck, you prick!” Hongjoong yells as soon as he is freed, even if his voice is hoarse from the chokehold, swinging his fist at the younger’s face, already recovering from the blow to his emotions and his body.

Yeosang merely rubs his jaw and walks to one of the computers in the room, like he hadn't just suffocated Hongjoong and earned himself a punch. It’s the old lab, Hongjoong realizes with a jolt, though he finds himself giving zero fucks about the location.

“Answer me, asshole. What the fuck was that for!” Hongjoong yells.

Yeosang is still like a statue, only his fingers moving as he loads up the Black database which Hongjoong has only seen Mingi open. The fact that he had access to it was a reminder of how Yeosang was an agent from their elite squad.

Hongjoong’s ego is a little bruised too, but the reminder that Yeosang is used to a different kind of life altogether, mission-wise, is a nice consolation.

A security footage starts playing on the screen just as Hongjoong is about to grab the other by the collar and question him about the madness he’d just exhibited mere moments ago. “Watch,” Yeosang says, planting his feet on the ground to kick and roll his chair away, moving a safe distance away from Hongjoong. Hongjoong is under no obligation to watch, considering how Yeosang had had him on the verge of a panic attack just a few seconds ago, but there’s something in the way he asks, which forces his feet to be rooted to the ground as his eyes focus on the screen.

It’s a grocery store, Hongjoong realizes, watching the cashier swat at something, probably a fly, with a folded up newspaper. Hongjoong counts three customers, a woman who is kneeling on the floor to look at something on the bottom shelf and two men, one taller than the other who looked like they were chatting. One of the men throws his head back and laughs.

_ Seonghwa _ , Hongjoong realizes with a jolt.

Hongjoong doesn’t know exactly what this is supposed to be, but he has a clue and he doesn’t want to see this without Seonghwa’s permission. He’s about to press the spacebar to pause the video when a group of men in black, armed with rifles crowd into the shop. Hongjoong’s hand halts in its course.

One moment, Seonghwa is laughing. Hongjoong comprehends with a pang in his chest that he can hear the sound echo in his ears even if in reality, there is no audio.

The next moment, the man Seonghwa is talking to collapses to the ground. The clarity is crap, but Hongjoong can see the blood that hits Seonghwa’s face, the exact way he freezes up as the group of men crowd around him and empty their guns in the other man’s chest, Seonghwa falling to his knees, curling up into a ball over the body, trying to stop the bleeding by pressing his hand where he could, too many bullet wounds that he can't physically staunch the bleeding with his hands. The gang walks out, but not before they kill the cashier and the woman too.

Seonghwa isn’t injured though. It was like it was a kill just to act as a warning for Seonghwa.

It probably was. 

Hongjoong lifts his hand to his face, wiping away the feeling of wetness before a gasp escapes his throat. His throat seizes up as Hongjoong chokes on a breath.

“That’s Jaehyung and he used to be Seonghwa’s partner. He was our team leader.”

Turning his face towards Yeosang, Hongjoong sees that the other man is crying too.

There’s a lot of things Hongjoong wants to say, how Yeosang has pretty much manipulated him into what Hongjoong wanted to know at Seonghwa’s pace and time, but it’s understanding that comes in waves instead of the anger Hongjoong expects.

_ If Seonghwa has his way, he’s never going to tell you. _

Yeosang’s words feel like a fever dream he’d had the night before but it made sense now. Who would ever summon up enough courage to tell their significant other something like this? 

Yeosang closes the window, wiping his face mechanically like he’s a robot and switches the computer off. He doesn’t say anything else, or wait for Hongjoong to catch up to him.

He just… walks away, and Hongjoong lets his breath stutter before he collapses to his knees, crying silently for Seonghwa, knowing that once he walks out that door, he will have to pretend like he doesn’t know anything even if every moment from then on was going to be painful, replete with the knowledge of the demons plaguing Seonghwa’s mind.

Hongjoong is reminded of every single time Seonghwa paled when Hongjoong asked if he wanted to go shopping with him. He feels the peculiar urge to throw up again as he understands, finally, why Seonghwa had nearly hyperventilated at the grocery store with him. But he’d done it. For Hongjoong.

Something in Hongjoong’ s  stomach twists and turns at the thought.

When they're home, Yeosang walks to the room and closes the door behind him. Hongjoong grasps Seonghwa’s hands tightly in his, feeling torn between looking Seonghwa in the eye, confessing that he knows, and ignoring the scene that’s only a shitty quality frame on an old LCD monitor for him but was a vivid, terrifying image for Seonghwa that he would relive till the end of time.

***

The man’s name is Jung Beomseok, a forty two year old with a clear vendetta against Seonghwa, that’s how Yeosang prefaces the conversation as he starts to talk at length about him. He’s a textbook psychopath as far as the information in the profile that Yeosang is kind enough to share with Hongjoong states. Outwardly prim and proper, Beomseok is the heir to the empire his father, a man whose name was spoken only in whispers in the underground had made before a rookie agent at KQ took his father down at a banquet. 

Seonghwa, Hongjoong surmises without trouble.

The man had searched near and far to put a name to the face and then, he’d gone for an elaborate plot which jeopardized not just Seonghwa’s life, but his entire team, instead of going for the clear kill that he obviously had an option to choose at that point in time.

Seonghwa tells him he wishes he did. Hongjoong grips the side of his chair and tries not to react.

Seonghwa skips over the parts of his partner’s death, just tells Hongjoong that their team had been hunted down, before Seonghwa finally managed to land a hit on Beomseok and took his supporters out, chased every single man with a red medallion tattoo and shot them down without mercy. 

Just like his partner had been killed, Seonghwa doesn’t say it, but Yeosang’s gaze is meaningful when their eyes meet as Hongjoong pretends to be extra focussed on the papers in front of them.

It’s incredible how much sense it makes even without Seonghwa letting the too terrifying parts out, and even if he hadn’t known the whole picture, Hongjoong knows that he wouldn’t have asked Seonghwa for more clarification because Jung Beomseok was a piece of shit with nothing resembling a moral compass inside him and that was reason enough. Nothing else was required because Hongjoong had no mercy for people like him.

Dead or alive, Eden had said, and looking at the men opposite him with their faces their own masks, blank canvases which let nothing out, Hongjoong knows which of the options is being favored considerably.

Hongjoong can’t blame them for desperately wanting this man dead.

Even he wished for it with everything he had and he hadn’t even known about this man’s existence a couple of hours ago.

The mission, as crucial as it is, is pretty straightforward, get to the warehouse, lure the man out, engage him in a little chit-chat, get him to admit to killing their team and whatever crimes he has committed over the years, jam signals, kill him in the time it takes for their police department to run to the warehouse and leave.

It’s a linear plan with clear intent and purpose. There’s room for things to get messy, but when Hongjoong really thinks about it, the stakes are as high as every mission they’ve gone on. If they treat this like any other mission they’ve tackled, they will make it out without getting hurt, but if emotions get in the way, he can already tell that things will immediately get fucked six ways to Sunday.

It’s almost deceptively simple too once Hongjoong ponders upon it for another moment. It’s incredibly concerning but there’s nothing he can do about it, really.

There’s a determined glint behind Seonghwa’s gaze, one that speaks volumes about how he really is desperate to close this chapter of his life.

Hongjoong just hopes that everything goes their way.

***

A week later and they’re all ready, the police already informed about the mission and the parts that are necessary for carrying their part of the equation without a hitch. Hongjoong can’t help the feeling that crawls up his throat though, this constant voice in his head which keeps whispering that something was going to go wrong.

It doesn’t make much sense until they’re all booted up and Seonghwa’s gaze is still burning holes on the back of Hongjoong’s head as he’s tying his shoes up, adjusting the Glock. 

There’s a knock on the door and Seonghwa opens it, Jun and Chan coming into view. Hongjoong raises an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of the pair. He’s about to tell them that it’s shitty timing on their part but pauses as Seonghwa nods at them, his body tense. 

Had he called them for backup or something? 

It was unnecessary though, they had the cops on their side anyway. Yeosang shoulder checks past him and walks out the door in the time it takes for him to process the situation. 

For some reason, as his gaze meets Jun’s, the older agent sends him a sad smile. Hongjoong tilts his head, confused, rising to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, staring back at him with such an intense look that Hongjoong feels his heart drop to the floor.

The door swings shut, Jun and Chan entering the apartment as Seonghwa disappears from his sight.

No.

_ No. _

It can’t be.

“No!” Hongjoong shouts, slamming his fists on the door. “Seonghwa, don’t fucking do this to me. Let me come with you. Please!” He begs, not caring that Jun and Chan are watching him as he tries the door handle to get the door to open. He hears the key in the lock and immediately feels like someone has asked him to swallow a stone. "Seonghwa, open the door!" He yells, knowing that Seonghwa and Yeosang are still outside. He hasn’t heard them move yet.

Hongjoong bangs his fist on the door again, anger and betrayal coursing through his veins.

“Hongjoong,” Chan calls from behind him, his voice trailing off. Hongjoong shakes his head insistently, banging his fists on the door over and over again, not giving a fuck about the pain radiating through his hands.

“I can’t,” he hears, Seonghwa’s voice drifting past the barrier between them. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to tell you everything, Hongjoong, but for now, just know that I can’t take you there knowing he’ll somehow find a way to use you against me.”

Hongjoong laughs brokenly.

“That sounds like a fucked up excuse, Seonghwa. Take me with you. Do you think I can sit here in peace when I know you’re facing down the biggest scumbag on this wretched planet!” Hongjoong screams, even if a part of him knows Seonghwa won’t open the door.

Hongjoong feels a click against the door, like something has been attached to the lock. 

“I didn’t want to do this, Hongjoong, but I… I love you. I love you. Remember that for me,” Seonghwa says, voice breaking. Hongjoong feels like he is being ripped through a paper shredder with how his heart wants to punch Seonghwa and pull him close at the same time.

“Stop talking like you’re going to… like you’re going to die, you idiot. Seonghwa, please…” Hongjoong pleads again, anxiety mounting at the risk that Seonghwa is taking. Yeosang will be there, but his mind is skeptical about how fast he will jump in front of a bullet if Seonghwa is in danger, how quickly he will respond if Seonghwa was in pain. 

It isn’t logical, it’s  _ so _ fucking far away from logic that Hongjoong would have laughed but he knows that his mind has always been his biggest enemy and in moments like this, it reminds him of how cruel it could be with its creativity.

“Seonghwa please… If you love me, please,” Hongjoong begs, only his hands on the wood keeping him from collapsing. It’s a low blow but he isn’t beneath playing dirty if it meant Seonghwa would open the door.

“Hongjoong, if you trust me like you said you did, do this for me. Wait for me.”

It seemed that Seonghwa wasn’t beyond playing the same cards that Hongjoong had been handling too and it’s with a slow turn of his head that he realizes finally that the click he heard against the door was Yunho’s new innovation, a coded door locker which could be fixed from the outside.

Hongjoong could spend hours trying to crack it from the inside, but it wouldn’t work unless someone unlocked it from the outside. Hongjoong sprints past Jun and Chan, shoving them not so kindly out of the way.

The balcony doors were bolted shut with the same lock as well.

Seonghwa had just completely locked him out. 

He feels like he is underwater when the tell-tale sounds of boots fade into the distance.

“Hongjoong,” Chan says, placing a firm hand on his shoulder as Hongjoong collapses to his knees.

“When?” Hongjoong chokes, head still facing the floor. He doesn’t bother explaining, knowing that Chan will understand exactly what he’s asking.

“Yesterday night,” Chan answers, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“Why?” Hongjoong asks.

“Because he’d rather die before putting you in danger,” Jun answers, settling on the couch, gaze fierce on him.

“We’re secret fucking agents, Jun! What did he expect?” Hongjoong yells, frustration ramping him up.

“Going on missions is different, Hongjoong. Dragging you to a man who has vowed to destroy everything he is?''Jun pauses, sighing. “Knowing that he’s going to rip open all his wounds and try his best to kill him while he’s at it? That’s different. If you were in his place, you would have done the same thing and until you’ve been through the very same things he has been through, you don’t get to criticize the decision he makes. So yes, we are sitting ducks today.” Jun looks at him again. “We play that role right down to a T and we fucking  _ wait _ .”

Hongjoong makes sure to slam the door to his room extra loudly as he stomps away, the wood vibrating for a second under the force. Hongjoong kneels down next to his bed, dragging the case under it towards him, pressing his thumb to the panel on the side to unlock it.

Hell would freeze over before Hongjoong let this minor roadblock stop him from going on this mission with Seonghwa.

***

Hongjoong bites the copper wire before wiping the end of it on the fabric of his jeans. The miniature drill had been a gift from Mingi. Hongjoong can use it to cut through the wood. It would take some time and the front door would be utterly ruined, but he didn’t care about any of it. He’d probably need to lock Jun and Chan in his room too, to get out of there.

Hongjoong forces himself to focus, trying to ignore how Seonghwa had used two of his closest friends and locked him in his home, all in the span of a few minutes, not even a warning given to him.

Hongjoong doesn’t fail to see where he is coming from, what Seonghwa’s motivation is, but rationality didn’t mean shit to him now. He’s angry, betrayal poking at his throat.

Hongjoong grits his teeth, groaning in frustration.

But he has to focus.

There’s the sound of a crash outside, something like an explosion, as he gets up to grab the lighter. 

Then, it’s chaos.

Hongjoong hears the sound of gunshots, and he grabs his gun, swinging the door open to see the living room in complete disarray. There are three intruders, dressed in all black, masks covering the lower halves of their faces, pointing their guns at Chan and Jun. Hongjoong’s entrance has all the five people in the room turn their attention to him.

“Come with us and they stay alive,” he hears. One of the men who has his gun trained on Jun gestures with his jaw to the front door, or what’s left of it, the debris from the explosion scattered in the hallway. Hongjoong takes a deep breath, scrunching his nose at the pungent odour of explosives.

“You’re not taking him anywhere,” Jun says, anger clear on his face. He’s hurt, Hongjoong notices, his left hand dripping blood on the ground. The bullet has merely grazed his bicep, he’ll survive, Hongjoong knows, but it’s clear that the men aren’t here to play.

“Why should I?” Hongjoong asks, already pocketing his gun, the decision clear to him.

“Park Seonghwa,” the man says.

Hongjoong grits his teeth. He has a feeling that this is not going to play out in their favor. 

“Put your gun down, Jun,” he says. The other agent glares at him for a long moment before he lets his hand fall, gesturing at Chan to do the same.

It’s quite the turn of events, Hongjoong thinks, when the man standing to the corner shoots twice at Jun and Chan, both their eyes rolling to the backs of their heads as they collapse to the ground. For a second, Hongjoong freezes, heart in his throat before he realizes that they’re tranquilizer darts. That meant nothing good.

The ringing in his ears continues. It’s a passing thought amidst the chaos in front of him, that he has gotten scarily accustomed to Seonghwa on the field that he can feel his brain checking for the other even if the logical part is aware that he isn’t here.

Hongjoong swings with his arms, high on adrenaline once his fight instincts kick in, getting the man standing next to him off-guard. He kicks the man in his solar plexus, the stranger groaning in pain. The men were twice his size and the part of his brain that still held onto reason was screaming at him to run, silently wondering if the sound of gunshots could have been heard by someone in their apartment complex. The instinct to run is strong, but Hongjoong knows better than to make a run for it when three armed men were rounding up on him. 

Hongjoong lets out a resigned sigh internally as he feels the man he kicked recover, his feet sliding under Hongjoong’s, but he skips out of the way, stumbling right onto the second man, his hand coming around to twist one of Hongjoong’s arms behind his back. Hongjoong stomps on his foot with his boot and pulls his gun from his pockets, already mapping out his attack.

Momentum lets him spin and drop and come up close enough to kick away the other man’s gun, his shin throbbing as it makes hard contact with a bony wrist. The man screeches and falls to the ground, cradling his wrist to his chest. Hongjoong figures that he's probably broken the area. He didn't stop to worry over it, spinning around again to land a punch square on another one of the attackers, his peripheral vision keeping track of the man with the tranq darts coming his way. 

Three isn’t too many, but they’re all armed and Hongjoong would be lying if he said he wasn’t doubting his chances of making it alive. He ducks out of the way of the one holding the tranq dart and groans when the one on the ground sweeps his feet off the ground, Hongjoong landing with a loud thud, his chin on fire from making direct contact with the floor. 

They were going full assault mode, but none of them were using their guns. It is with a heavy sense of despair that Hongjoong realizes that they’re trying to take him alive.

That wasn’t good. That meant he was going to be used as leverage.

Bait for Seonghwa.

It’s a blow to his ego as well when he admits to himself that if they hadn't been trying to take him in alive, he'd already be dead.

Hongjoong forces himself to get up, his arm feeling a bit weird from taking the brunt of his fall when he feels a sharp sting on his neck.

Hongjoong doesn’t have to look to confirm what it is. 

His knees give out under him and the arms of the man who had been stalking towards him with the tranq gun catch him. Hongjoong internally gags at the sensation of the man’s rough palms touching his torso, his shirt bunching upwards.

_ Don’t fucking give in _ , he tells himself uselessly, fighting against every nerve ending of his trying its best to shut his eyes and give into the darkness creeping into his vision. His last thought before he passes out is an apology to Seonghwa and how it’d be a bitch to fix the front door.

In hindsight, Hongjoong really should have seen this coming.

***

The loopy feeling of having fallen unconscious involuntarily and due to no fault of his own lingers in the back of his mind. His head feels heavy as he closes his eyes against the bright glow of the lamp that’s hanging from the ceiling. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s in the warehouse in Gangnam, thanks to Eden’s lookouts sending them the pictures of the place. The paint is the exact same shade inside too, an ugly pale mauve that Hongjoong despises instantly, but he’s not here to judge their interior decor.

Hongjoong looks around the room. There are metal sheets welded to the wall where Hongjoong thinks used to be windows. As such there is little ventilation, only a small square on the wall next to the ceiling letting the sunlight in.

He’s weirdly calm, his brain pushing all its resources to finding an escape route. It gives up five minutes later when he finally forces himself to comprehend that there’s no way he was going to be able to break down an eight foot metal door. It’s like all his senses have collectively decided to postpone panic in favor of thinking a mile a minute.

Hongjoong spots a camera hidden not so subtly above the lamp. If someone looked straight at the lamp, they’d miss the camera, a small square hanging attached to the same wire as the lamp.

Hongjoong hears no movement, but he feels intensely like he’s being watched, so he gets up, making sure to try his best to not sway on his feet even if the traces of whatever drug they’d used to knock him out is still in his system. He looks straight at the camera and gives a two-fingered salute at it, foregoing words just in case there wasn’t a mic built in.

Hongjoong is aware that he is in captivity, obviously, and he has no weapon on him, but he feels a smirk come on his face when the door rattles mere minutes later, the man who had shot him with the dart entering, holding the door open for someone else to step inside.

Beomseok paints an imposing picture like this, his charcoal grey shirt rolled up to his sleeves. He’s dressed casually, his dress shoes faded, the dust on the floor matching the thin veil of dirt covering the expensive leather. There’s a leer on his face, one that’s strained, the skin around his cheek tensing with the effort.

Hongjoong hates him instantly.

“Kim Hongjoong, it’s nice to finally meet you. We’ve been watching you for a long time.”

The man with the tranq gun closes the door, standing guard inside the room, as Beomseok stalks forward with confidence. Hongjoong can see how calculated his steps are though, like he knew not to startle Hongjoong.

If not for how Hongjoong’s limbs were not much better than noodles at this moment, there would have been nothing to stop him from smacking the life out of the men, but as it is, he can feel his eyes threaten to roll back into his head with the strain of trying to keep himself standing.

“You don’t have to put in the effort to look imposing, seeing as that I know exactly how you scream when your lovely and truly despicable partner is buried to the hilt inside you.”

Hongjoong swallows the vomit that rises up his throat as the knowledge registers in him that this man before him, this complete stranger who had taken his time and toyed with everything Seonghwa ever cared, had seen Seonghwa and his intimate moments.

“You don’t have to sound so proud of being a complete creep, you know? If you were really in need of porn so badly, there are websites for it. Perhaps, I could even show you some,” Hongjoong says, trying to pretend like he is the least bothered about the topic in discussion.

The man in front of him doesn’t look like he appreciates the comment, but it’s only how his jaw tenses up which clues Hongjoong into the discomfort and the way he’s getting increasingly riled up.

“I could kill you right now,” Beomseok seethes, his eyes flashing.

Hongjoong cocks his head, ignoring how his body is yelling for mercy at him.

“We’re jumping straight to death threats now? With how intimately you seem to know me, I had hoped that you would chat me up a little before we got to the finale,” Hongjoong drawls, smirking, even if his heart has shut down on him at how low he’s being forced to stoop.

“Stalling isn’t going to do you any favors,” Beomseok spits.

“I don’t know where I am or what day it is or how long I’ve been taken. What makes you think I’m stalling?” Hongjoong quips.

He isn’t lying. He has no clue how much time has passed since he was taken. It could have been hours, or a day, but it can’t be much longer than that considering how his brain is refusing to factor in the possibility of multiple days being lost to him in the one bout of unconsciousness. 

There’s a reason why he can’t allow rationality to take over too though, because if days have passed and Beomseok was still alive, it’s clear how Seonghwa and Yeosang’s attempts have fared. Hongjoong doesn’t want to start crumbling in front of the one man Seonghwa hated with all his might, especially considering how his mind can’t be trusted with matters concerning the people he loves and dangerous situations.

“For all the confidence you’re putting up, you seem awfully sad,” Beomseok states and Hongjoong absolutely abhors the way his face has just betrayed him.

“Let’s cut the crap, where’s Seonghwa?” Hongjoong asks, done skirting around the topic.

“Dead,” Beomseok says, casually.

Hongjoong feels his insides freeze, but he shakes his head, clearing his throat.

“You wouldn’t keep me alive if he was dead,” Hongjoong says, secretly glad that his voice hasn’t given up on him.

Beomseok’s face is blank before he smirks.

“True,” he says as he steps closer and it takes everything in Hongjoong to not flinch away, resentment a metronome inside him.

“It’s only been a couple of hours, Hongjoong. Seonghwa, well,” Beomseok drawls, smiling at the guard as if there is an inside joke, “He’s a little preoccupied, isn’t he, Hyojong?”

The guard, Hyojong, shrugs with a smile.

Hongjoong digs his nails into his thigh, gritting his teeth. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

Beomseok laughs in his face and this time Hongjoong doesn’t hold back the flinch. The man clearly doesn’t like it, probably not used to such obvious disgust from someone. Hongjoong is fully prepared for it when the man pulls him by the hair and bends him backward. Hongjoong lifts his knee, ready to slam it into his crotch when Beomseok tuts, “One finger on me and Seonghwa doesn’t even reach here alive.” Hongjoong puts his knee down, it would have been embarrassing how quickly he did it if it wasn’t done for Seonghwa. Hongjoong makes sure to glare at the man from the angle his neck’s been bent at.

“Easy, Hongjoong,” Beomseok says, smiling. But his grip is anything but that, too tight on Hongjoong’s hair, his scalp threatening to go numb from the pain.

“What did you do to him?” Hongjoong repeats, keeping himself from groaning in pain.

“Just sent a death party to him but it seems he’s desperate to get to me. They’re dead now, so I assume he and his little fox will be arriving here soon.”

Beomseok’s voice is completely unaffected by the death of the people he’d apparently sent for Seonghwa and Yeosang. It’s a chilling reminder of how the database information they collected had called him a psychopath. The good news, however, was that Seonghwa is alive, Yeosang too, by the likes of it.

“It would be pretty sad if he walked in to see you hurt though, wouldn’t it?” Beomseok asks, raking a harsh finger over Hongjoong’s cheek.

Hongjoong knows what comes next. It’s incredible really his ability to let his mind zone out of the pain as soon as Beomseok lands the first punch, his lip bleeding iron into his mouth. Hongjoong’s fight instincts want to kick in but he keeps them at bay, Beomseok’s warning ringing in his ears loud enough for him to not dare to even move a muscle. There’s another couple of punches and Hongjoong lets himself be dragged to the wall, the man’s grip harsh on his hair as he slams his head on the painted mauve of the wall, his blood smudging the area a deep crimson.

He must not be intending to kill, Hongjoong thinks, as Beomseok drags him up the collar after the fourth slam of his head against the wall and shoves him to the floor.

Hongjoong lies on the ground and takes it as the man kicks his stomach, the edge of his shoes landing straight into his gut. The fact that he doesn’t struggle must be riling the other up because he crouches on the floor, hovering above him and says, “Don’t keep those noises in. Let me hear you.”

Hongjoong chokes on the blood from his nose and mouth and laughs, his face swinging to the side at the next blow landing on his face in vengeance. He spits out the mix of blood and saliva that’s blocking his throat.

“Over my dead fucking body,” Hongjoong says, every cell inside him wanting to shove this slimy creep away from him, tolerating it only for the sake of Seonghwa.

The words seem to enrage the man further because he digs around in his pocket in a hurry. Hongjoong, much to his credit, doesn’t even blink as the pocket knife comes into view. He can do this for Seonghwa.

There’s little warning before the man pulls his t-shirt’s neck wider, ripping it, his collarbones on display. It’s just a bit of skin but Hongjoong feels naked under him. Hongjoong gets no time to dwell on it though, because the next thing he knows is the tip of the knife slicing through the skin over his collarbones and shoulder.

Hongjoong feels the tears flow freely, but he doesn’t dare make a sound. Beomseok’s other hand is digging painfully into his other shoulder to keep him in place as he carves his skin with his other hand. Hongjoong doesn’t have to look at it to know it’ll scar for a lifetime.

Beomseok grins at him. “Now, you’ll have Seonghwa carved on you forever. It’s sad though, that you’ll not see the light of day again, Hongjoong. Not you, your boyfriend or his little fox.”

Hongjoong laughs again, in spite of the pain. 

The joke was on Beomseok.

Hongjoong had carved Seonghwa on himself an eternity ago.

Beomseok’s phone chooses to ring just as he’s about to dig his knife into Hongjoong’s other shoulder, his sweaty fingers pressing into the bloody wounds on the other side to hold Hongjoong stable.

Hongjoong can feel the injuries get to him, his vision blurring in and out of focus as Beomseok gets away from him, his phone attached to his ear, grunting an acknowledgement into the mic.

“Let’s go meet your boyfriend, Hongjoong,” Beomseok says, wiping the blood away on a handkerchief he pulls from his pocket before shoving the knife down his pocket.

Hongjoong as much as he wants to meet Seonghwa can’t find it in himself to move, thanks to the beating he’d received just now. The guard pulls him up harshly, his feet dragging as he supports him out the door, but not before he ties his hands up behind him with a rope.

Hongjoong hates the way his brain immediately pulls up images of a freezer and Yang, but he can’t afford to have a breakdown, not in front of these people. It’s funny too, that any other day Hongjoong could have found his way out of the ropes but the day he should be able to do it in, his shoulder is carved up like meat which was about to be grilled, restricting his movement, his bruised ribs and stomach not letting him even try to free himself for more than ten seconds.

It’s not like he could hurt them back anyway, even if he managed to free himself, not until he knew Seonghwa was safe.

Beomseok puts a hand up as they reach another door, the guard stopping in his tracks, shifting to accommodate more of Hongjoong’s weight.

“Wait here. Let me talk to them first,” Beomseok says, the bloody handkerchief still balled up in his fist.

The door is left ajar. Intentionally, Hongjoong figures, when the sound of slow, dramatic clapping reaches his ears.

_ What a fucking unoriginal prick _ , Hongjoong thinks, shaking his head in contempt. The guard holding him up throws him a look of judgement.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of having the Park Seonghwa himself come to my humble abode?” Beomseok sounds like a class A brat who consumed way too many action movies and spent years projecting the villains’ characteristics upon himself.

_ Seonghwa _ , his heart sings, feeling his presence even if he can’t see him from the sliver of space between the door and the frame.

“Jesus fucking Christ, do you ever shut up?” 

Hongjoong laughs at Yeosang’s voice, his insides seizing up at the pain radiating from every inch of his body, chest heaving from the effort, but it’s fucking worth it.

“You know why we’re here. You waited here for us. So why don’t you tell me what you want?”

_ Seonghwa _ , Hongjoong sighs in content through the pain.

Seonghwa sounds angry, but it’s a controlled sort of rage. Good, Hongjoong thinks. Control is good. It meant that he was confident enough to see this through to the end.

“You know what I want, Seonghwa. The deeds. The deeds of everything I own, everything that is rightfully mine. Give it back to me and I’ll never touch even a hair on your head.”

Beomseok sounds so fucking genuine as he says it and if Hongjoong wasn’t an expert in seeing through lies, he would have believed him. He wonders how many people this madman had manipulated exactly like this.

Seonghwa knows better though. Hongjoong knows that Seonghwa knows better.

“Done,” Seonghwa says.

There’s the sound of footsteps approaching the door before it stops. “Just in case you had other plans, I thought I’d give you some tempting incentive.”

Hongjoong sees the door open fully with a creak and Beomseok pulls him to his side, the guard letting him go completely. Hongjoong collapses to the ground on his knees, Beomseok pulling him up and holding him with a hand curled around his bicep.

Hongjoong can see the way horror creeps on both Seonghwa and Yeosang’s faces, fear, shock, realization flitting on their faces before complete devastation sets in.

Hongjoong attempts a weak wave and a bloody smile at them.

“How?” Seonghwa asks, and it’s barely a sound.

“You thought you’d keep him safe at home, but no place is safe, Seonghwa. Nowhere. Not apartments, not your office, not even the fucking grocery store,” he pauses and Hongjoong feels a sharp pain traverse his heart as Seonghwa visibly flinches, Beomseok continuing as if he never stopped, “But you’d know all about that, right?”

Hongjoong can feel consciousness slipping from him, but Beomseok holds him with an iron grip, his fingers certainly leaving bruises on his skin.

There are too many men in the room, all of them armed. It’s easy to see that there was absolutely no plans for them to be allowed to walk free from here.

“I’ll give it to you. But first,” Seonghwa’s voice shakes, Hongjoong’s heart squeezing in response, “Let him go first.”

“Will you beg for it?” Beomseok asks.

“If I have to,” Seonghwa answers.

Hongjoong shakes his head at him even if it feels like his brain is experiencing a physical whiplash.

Seonghwa attempts to send a comforting smile towards him, but Hongjoong can see the obvious tremble of his mouth.

“Then, beg,” he says and Hongjoong wishes he had a gun because he wants this man dead, but he’s helpless, watching as Seonghwa falls to his knees and does exactly what Beomseok wants him to do. 

“Please let him go,” Seonghwa says, head bowed, a defeated slump to his shoulders, the confidence which resonated in his voice just seconds ago disappearing completely.

“Seonghwa, no, get up,” Hongjoong says, trying to shrug out of the man’s hold and get to him, but his grip is too tight. All Hongjoong can do is stand and watch, tears flowing steadily down his cheeks. But there’s some unknown force which rises inside him as if in response to seeing the love of his life kneel in front of a scumbag for him. Hongjoong tries to be as subtle as possible as he pulls at the rope, biting his teeth through the pain as he feels it slowly but surely give way under his hands.

Hongjoong sends a helpless look to Yeosang, but the younger man shakes his head subtly, implying that he can do nothing about it, his jaw clenched tight as he watches Seonghwa from beside him.

“Look at you, Seonghwa. All your pride, everything you’ve ever worked for, everything given up for one pretty boy. How does that feel?”

Seonghwa rises to his feet. “He isn’t just some pretty boy to me,” he says and he sounds like he means it, Hongjoong knows he means it. “He’s everything to me.”

Beomseok lips curl in disgust. “You’re still so weak, Seonghwa.”

“You’re the fucking weak one, Jung. Not him,” Yeosang fires, the back and forth clearly getting to him. Hongjoong twists his wrist despite the pain and tugs at the rope, one finger free. One more and he could get out of this.

“Let him go, Jung. I’ll give you the information you need. Just please… let him go,” Seonghwa says.

Hongjoong sees the look Yeosang gives Seonghwa before he hands a USB flash drive to him. Beomseok watches the exchange with interest.

No.  _ No. _

_ Fuck. _

_ This _ wasn’t part of the plan.

_ What the fuck was going on? _

Hongjoong tugs on the rope again again, feeling another finger slip free from the rope just as Beomseok pulls his gun from his pocket. Neither Seonghwa nor Yeosang react to the added threat.

“You first,” Beomseok says, letting Hongjoong’s bicep go in favor of pulling him by his hair again as he stares at Seonghwa with a challenge in his eyes.

Seonghwa walks forward, his defenses completely down, eyes intent on Hongjoong. Hongjoong sends a silent apology to him and hopes to God that his timing is right, the rope falling to the ground as he pivots on his heel and uses the last dregs of his energy to disarm Beomseok and grab his gun. 

Hongjoong doesn’t pause to burst into a speech, pulling the trigger even if his hands are cramped, Beomseok's eyes widening as the first bullet finds its place in his chest. Hongjoong hopes it hurts. His only regret is that he couldn't save this opportunity for Seonghwa, to put a bullet straight in his beating heart and breathe a little easier but there's no point in thinking about it. 

What had to be done was already done. 

Complete mayhem erupts behind him, bullets flying and landing everywhere, but Hongjoong ignores it and empties the magazine into Beomseok’s chest, a cinematic parallel to a similar scene on a screen that he witnessed two days ago. Beomseok gurgles on his own blood, wheezing and the life fades from his eyes as they droop shut. 

_ For Seonghwa _ , Hongjoong thinks.

_ There _ , an era of pain and strife, dead, merely a rapidly cooling body on the dirty floor.

Hongjoong inhales, the smell of gunpowder and iron sharp in the air. There’s a sharp pain on Hongjoong’s side and he wheezes out a breath, the wound on his shoulder bleeding uncomfortably down his torso.

Hongjoong watches Seonghwa and Yeosang shoot down the henchmen, switching back and forth between actual combat and using their guns, using the distraction well. Hongjoong feels the pain die down, vision blurring and focusing again. 

He’s so cold. 

A man sneaks up on Yeosang and Hongjoong lifts the gun, aiming and firing at the man, earning himself a distracted smile from Yeosang. He does the same to another man, Seonghwa kicking and putting a bullet in his chest, looking towards Hongjoong with a pained look after.

It’s hard to keep standing, Hongjoong registers distantly. His eyes focus on Seonghwa for a long moment before it blurs and refocuses again.

Hongjoong watches Seonghwa empty another bullet onto the man who gets up despite being shot in his shoulder already. Hongjoong smiles to himself, trying to walk forward towards Seonghwa. There was only one henchman left and Hongjoong knows that Yeosang will be able to handle him just fine.

Hongjoong just wants to go home. 

He hears Yeosang shout his and Seonghwa’s name in quick succession and Hongjoong gasps at the loud sound, ears already ringing from the sound of bullets.

There’s a flash of movement in front of him and Hongjoong flops forward, right onto Seonghwa’s chest, his arms going around him firm and gentle.

“Seonghwa,” he hears Yeosang call, fear dripping from his voice.

“I love you,” Hongjoong mumbles in relief, sweat pooling on his forehead and face, resting his clammy cheek against the skin of Seonghwa’s neck as Seonghwa cradles him to his chest and lowers them down to the floor.

“I know. I love you too, Hongjoong. I love you so much,” Seonghwa says, rocking them back and forth. Hongjoong smiles, consciousness teetering on the edge of a cliff, white hot agony blinding him.

“Seonghwa,” he hears Yeosang call again. “He’s shot.”

_ Who was shot? _

Hongjoong feels Seonghwa freeze, pulling away from him only to slide his hands over his torso. Hongjoong opens his eyes, trying to hold onto consciousness, Seonghwa’s beautiful face coming into his view, his cold hands trembling where they’re roaming on his chest. He hears Yeosang yelling about an ambulance and hospital, silently wondering why everything sounded like he was underwater.

“No, no, no, no. Please, God no. Please, please,” Seonghwa sobs, flicking his gaze over Hongjoong’s face like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen and like he’s terrified to lose him.

_ Why was Seonghwa crying? _

Hongjoong wants to ask him to smile because Beomseok was gone. Hongjoong had made sure he was.

Hongjoong is just sorry that he couldn’t save the man for Seonghwa.

Surely Seonghwa wasn’t upset about that.  _ Or was he? _

Or was Seonghwa hurt?

“Are you hurt, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong mumbles, his throat parched, head lolling back to Seonghwa’s chest.

Seonghwa is still crying as he lifts a bloody hand and presses it against Hongjoong’s side. Hongjoong grits his teeth at the pain which turns into blinding and excruciating agony which pulses through his side. He still manages to smile at Seonghwa’s musky scent which overpowers the copper tang in the air, the one breath he takes happily filling his lungs with Seonghwa.

Why was Seonghwa holding him so tight?

“No, Hongjoong. You are,” Seonghwa sobs, shaking his head.

Hongjoong is hurt from the beating Beomseok levelled him, but he is going to be fine.

He is. _ _

Why was Seonghwa crying like he was dying?

“You’re shot, you moron, and you fucking promised to take care of yourself! Keep your word!” Yeosang yells and Hongjoong wants to ask why he can’t feel the pain from the gunshot anymore, wants to wipe at Seonghwa’s face and ask him not to cry, wants to kiss Seonghwa and tell him he didn’t have to worry anymore.

Hongjoong gasps as the realization hits him, his eyes focusing on where Seonghwa’s hand is pressing against his side.

_ Fuck.  _

He is  _ shot. _

Seonghwa gently lifts him and Hongjoong winces when his head throbs from the feeling of the cold ground under him, something wet pooling under his torso.

Seonghwa mumbles apologies under his breath as he presses both hands to Hongjoong’s side. Hongjoong doesn’t scream, pain giving way to numbness.

“Don’t die on me. Oh God! Please, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa pleads, his throat raw from crying.

“Please don’t do this to me. Stay with me,” Hongjoong hears, but keeping his eyes open is too much of a task right now, it’ll be so easy to give in and fall into the painless sleep that’s calling for him.

_ Just a moment _ , he thinks, closing his eyes.

“Hongjoong, please. I love you, Hongjoong. Please stay with me. Stay with me.” Seonghwa’s begging has turned into panicked, incoherent yelling.

Hongjoong hates how his voice is splintering more with every word.

“Please, please, you promised. You promised to stay. You’re gonna be fine, yeah? Stay with me,” Seonghwa whispers, bending down to speak into his ears.

Seonghwa’s tears wet his ears.

It’s hard to talk, blood crawling up his mouth.

“Please,” Seonghwa rasps, his hands putting the sort of pressure that should have Hongjoong screaming, but he doesn’t even feel it.

Hongjoong wants to keep his promise to Seonghwa. Yeosang too.

There is the sound of several pairs of combat boots hitting the floor.

The police, Hongjoong figures.

_ What a fucking joke _ , he huffs internally.

Seonghwa moves away from his face, still mumbling things Hongjoong no longer has the energy to decipher.

_ Promise me you’ll stay safe. No matter what happens. Tell me you’ll fight till the end. _

Seonghwa’s words from the sidewalk is soft like a whisper in his head as he hears it on loop, his ears shutting off the noise from the external world which sadly includes Seonghwa’s worried cries and reassurances.

_ Well fuck _ , Hongjoong thinks, cringing at his eloquence before the pain, exhaustion and blood loss drags him under finally.

***

There is a steady beeping sound when Hongjoong comes to, the headache clinging tightly to him. 

Not dead yet then, he thinks, internally laughing at the grim thought.

It doesn’t take any of his field instincts for him to understand that he’s in a hospital. The scent of disinfectant is sharp as he inhales, the oxygen mask over his face which should be making him panic feeling light over his face. His head is throbbing like someone had slammed it against a wall.

Hongjoong winces at the memory of Beomseok’s grip on his hair as he repeatedly shoved him against the disgusting mauve wall, his skull ricocheting off with the sheer force that was utilized.

That had happened.

Good thing he was dead then. He won’t hurt anyone again. 

Hongjoong’s temples are screaming at him, even despite the painkillers that the doctors must be pumping into him. He can feel the needle in his wrist.

Hongjoong feels achy all over, his side and head throbbing with pain, but he’s alive.

Maybe that’s worth something.

Hongjoong winces as he shifts, blinking rapidly to handle the dim light in the room, eyes adjusting to the light. There’s a familiar cold hand on top of his sore hand, but it isn’t heavy.

Seonghwa, Hongjoong realizes, heartbeat speeding, the heart monitor picking up the change in pace.

Hongjoong smiles, the skin of his jaw pulling painfully, but Hongjoong pays it no heed as Seonghwa jolts awake from where he had been hunched over the bed and looks around, his hand still on Hongjoong’s.

“Hey,” Hongjoong rasps as Seonghwa glances at him and tears up immediately, his blank expression crumbling.

“Hey you,” Seonghwa rasps back, a pained smile on his face like he can’t decide if he wants to cry or laugh.

That’s fine.

Hongjoong has all the time in the world to wait.

And for Seonghwa, Hongjoong would wait an eternity.

That will never change.

Hongjoong squeezes Seonghwa’s hand with whatever energy he has in him.

Oblivion calls to him again and Hongjoong goes freely, some part of him whispering at him to let it go, telling him that he’d wake up again, assuring him that Seonghwa would be right there.

Right before he slips completely, he feels a pair of soft lips press against his forehead, warm breath hitting his hair.

Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s heart calls, filled with longing and love and his stomach fills with butterflies as he slips under again, the sedative and painkiller concoction replacing his blood in his veins doing their job right.

Maybe Seonghwa could fix the front door when they got home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (keyboard smashes)
> 
> I'll see myself out now.  
Thank you so much for reading!! Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!!! Leave kudos if you liked what you saw! Have a fantastic day/night wherever you are and take care of yourself, rockstars!
> 
> PS: Shoutout to R for their immense support and instant replies on DM, which inevitably and super quickly became something I looked forward to (I hope you aren't suffering too much!), J, for being the sweetest person to me and for hyping me up all the time, S for dragging me with concern for my wrists and for being my long-lost twin, and M for being my little warrior whom I'm pretty sure I terrified with all the ominous and ambiguous tweets I posted~


	10. Epilogue: Until the quiet leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, rockstars! The epilogue to this monster of a fic~ Happy reading!

The world doesn’t stop for anyone, Hongjoong thinks.

Someone could be standing on top of an unfinished building, clutching their plastic writing board to their chest, acrophobia insistently pressing down on their chest cavity with zero regard for how their knees are threatening to buckle, crisp, starched shirt ironed to perfection getting drenched in the cold sweat their body is breaking into. Their legs could give up on them the next moment and there they’ll go, tumbling down the many floors they’d put all their heart and soul into, but even then, despite the mark they’ve made in the world, nothing would change. 

Grief would follow, pain would follow, misery and heartbreak would follow, but the world, the world wouldn’t stop for them.

No matter what you’ve been through, the trials and tribulations which tore you in two, the pain you had to endure to get where you were before fate swings in with a katana and slices straight through all of it, the pillars you created with bare hands and skinned knuckles, the world wouldn’t care for any of it either.

The world doesn’t stop for anyone and Hongjoong knows that he is no exception.

Two weeks ago, Hongjoong was cradled in the arms of his boyfriend, the one man he would ruin the world for, his gaze set on the tears glossing over his pretty black eyes as he begged him to hold on for a bit longer, to not abandon him after he’d only just put the pieces between them together in the shape of a dilapidated bridge which served the purpose anyway and let them meet in the middle.

Hongjoong doesn’t believe in a million gods, but he does believe in people and more than everyone else, he believes in Seonghwa. Maybe some part of him deep inside desperately wanted Seonghwa to reciprocate, but the conscious parts of his brain driven by logic and sensibility only yearned for Seonghwa, nothing else. 

It’s a heavy realization. He didn’t have to long for anything more. He has Seonghwa, no matter the cracks and the distortions which made him feel like they were kissing underwater and suffocating in the clear sky, this was true.

Hongjoong has Seonghwa.

There’s the unmistakable sound of the key being inserted into the lock of the mended door, the _ new _ door, Hongjoong corrects himself, giving way seconds later. There’s a certain creaky quality to the sound made by it because of the way the hinges are still being broken into. Hongjoong hadn’t known that his senses were keen enough for him to pick out the anomaly which he figures will turn into just another variable in his brain’s repertoire of unthreatening sounds soon. Certain events which had transpired on a particular day really should make him more cautious, but Hongjoong can’t bring himself to care.

Shutting his eyes tightly, Hongjoong relaxes against the pillow on the couch, knowing that he can lay back and ease off a little now that the thud of combat boots resound in the apartment. There’s shuffling next, and it isn’t alien, having accustomed himself to it over the time he has spent carefully tuning his eyes and ears to everything Seonghwa did in an attempt to not trouble him. His side still throbs from the bullet which hadn’t been stronger than his will to stay with Seonghwa, and he’s grateful that he’s alive. In the fetters determining the radius of their domain of work, it’s all he can ask for.

_ Small mercies. _

Seonghwa's socked feet on the linoleum floor is a familiar sound, and the closer he gets, the greater the urge to open his eyes is because God knows how many times he’s had to restrain himself, but his head is pounding like it's trying to cave in on him. He wants to get up and close the window so that the sunlight streaming in from the balcony won't be so harsh on his face, but getting up is a chore in itself that he silently curls into a ball with what little mobility the wound on his side can allow him. The mark on his shoulder throbs painfully.

“Hey,” Hongjoong whispers anyway, opening his eyes against the urge to flinch away from the light. He sits a little straighter when a few minutes have passed and Seonghwa doesn’t move to approach him. Seonghwa stands halted on his way to the kitchen, an effigy unmoving in a time lapse, slouching forward a little like he was intending to be silent and Hongjoong had caught him off guard. Seonghwa must decide to snap out of it because he waves lazily at him like Hongjoong is in a car driving away to the horizon.

_ God _ , Hongjoong’s head _ hurts _ like some Norse God is hammering his way through his skull.

“I thought you were taking a nap,” Seonghwa says, still standing too far away for Hongjoong’s liking.

“I wanted to,” Hongjoong says wistfully. _ I couldn’t _, he doesn’t say, but Seonghwa must read into his words all the same because he finally saunters to his side, sitting down next to him, their thighs pressed together. 

He smells like everything Hongjoong has ever wanted, like musk and wood and mint and everything he’s always smelled like. It’s almost unbelievable that this thing between them is real.

“Ice cream?” Seonghwa asks, clearly unaware of how Hongjoong’s head is waxing poetic about the way he smells. He hands the bag which Hongjoong assumes has the dessert in question, gently wrapping an arm around him, stroking his back. Hongjoong shifts and lets Seonghwa take a bit of his weight with a small content sigh.

Hongjoong pointedly avoids asking why Seonghwa would push himself to a grocery store just to get ice cream. He had left to drop Yeosang at the airport, the younger having gotten another mission order. Seonghwa hadn’t mentioned anything about a visit to the grocery store or Hongjoong would have tagged along despite his state.

Hongjoong thumbs the handle of the bag where thick plastic bunches up in his hand and turns to look at Seonghwa properly. Up close like this, he can see the way there’s a heavy haunted look to Seonghwa’s gaze like he had nearly broken down and Hongjoong’s chest aches. 

“What did you get?” Hongjoong asks, not pulling the plastic tub out yet.

Seonghwa’s eyes curve as he smiles. “See for yourself,” he says.

Hongjoong furrows his eyebrows and looks down, surprise taking over at the strawberry ice cream. “How did you know?”

Seonghwa shrugs, his hand still stroking Hongjoong’s back. It’s gentle and comforting, but firm enough that he feels like he wants to lean all his weight on Seonghwa and sleep but also like he needs to stay awake so that he can trace Seonghwa’s face in his mind over and over again.

“It was there in the notepad,” Seonghwa says finally. Hongjoong quirks an eyebrow when he notices that Seonghwa is hiding something. 

“And?” Hongjoong prompts.

“The mission in Daegu. When we were doing recon and had to hide from the gang members, you pulled me to the nearest ice cream shop, remember?”

Hongjoong does.

It’s another fragment of a memory which further proved how Seonghwa really had been paying attention to him for a long time. 

“Thank you,” he says airily, voice choking a little. 

Seonghwa shakes his head and grabs the tub of ice cream, opening it up and handing it over.

Hongjoong really isn’t in the mood for ice cream, but Seonghwa has been trying everything he could to to get through to him for the past couple of days. Hongjoong knows that he hasn’t been very responsive. It was unfair, maybe, but his nightmares had shifted considerably and the feeling of impending doom still hasn’t faded. Hongjoong didn’t want to lose his cool with Seonghwa, especially when his boyfriend was the one who had the right to be angry with him. Seonghwa didn’t deserve to have anyone give him shit for anything when he meant no harm, when he was the one stuck with the agonized coalition of guilt and grief merged with an awful streak of survivor’s guilt from over a year ago still haunting him every day.

Hongjoong had merely done what he could do best, tried to stay away when he felt like snapping at Seonghwa. Seonghwa still didn’t know that Yeosang had come clean to him and there was a part of Hongjoong which still felt like a traitor for knowing something he wasn’t supposed to.

The ice cream is a simple _ “I know you’re not okay, but I’m not sure what to do anymore. This is me trying, will you let me in?” _ situation and it breaks Hongjoong’s heart at how the tables have turned.

It’s his fault this time though. Everything in him yearns for Seonghwa, but he’s scared that he’d look at Seonghwa and would get the urge to tell him that he knows, that he doesn’t have to pretend like a whole bloodbath of someone who he respected and loved dearly hadn’t happened right in front of him. Maybe Hongjoong hadn’t voluntarily sought out the secret. He had even asked Yeosang to stop, but that didn’t change the fact that he _ knew _.

The first scoop of ice cream into his mouth has him salivating, effectively shoving the more serious thoughts to the back and Hongjoong lets a genuine smile show, watching the unintentional frown on Seonghwa’s face relax and give way to a mirroring smile matching his in intensity.

Hongjoong’s _ so _ in love.

He doesn’t stop himself when the urge to feed some of the sweet and cold strawberry goodness to Seonghwa creeps up on him. He turns to the side, one hand holding up the plastic spoon with hope. Seonghwa’s gaze flicks to the ice cream to his mouth, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to eat the ice cream or kiss Hongjoong.

Hongjoong wouldn’t mind it either way. He hoped Seonghwa knew that.

Seonghwa leans in, it’s not a huge action in its spatiality considering how they’re already pressed up close but Hongjoong’s breath hitches anyway. Seonghwa notices, immediately having arrived at the worst case scenario, looking up at him in panic before he calms down, eyes tracing the blush Hongjoong is certain has made its appearance known.

Seonghwa delicately laps up the ice cream, smiling at Hongjoong, his eyes conveying warmth and gratitude.

Hongjoong’s breath hitches again. He doesn’t ask when he leans in and kisses Seonghwa. It’s delicate and sweet from the ice cream. It also happens to be the second kiss they’ve shared after Seonghwa had kissed him at the hospital when the doctors finally decided that he didn’t need to be sedated anymore. Hongjoong thinks that the memory of Seonghwa’s tear streaked face and his lip wobbling before he kissed him, the fear of loss and the intensity of the agony he was in making itself known in one soft kiss pressed against his chapped lips is something he’d never be able to fully forget.

Hongjoong knew Seonghwa loved him, but at that moment, he’d felt, without the blurry haze from blood loss and a crashing adrenaline rush, that Seonghwa truly meant it with everything he had, that he’d lose himself if he lost Hongjoong.

Hongjoong would _ never _.

Seonghwa’s hand which is not caressing the curve of his spine comes up to cradle his jaw, kissing back at the pace Hongjoong sets, navigating his mouth like he was rediscovering it. He tilts his head, slotting their mouths with practiced ease. Hongjoong feels the pleasure build at the pit of his stomach at the intimacy and he shivers, Seonghwa smiling against his mouth in response.

Hongjoong licks into the warmth of Seonghwa’s mouth once more and pulls away with another peck. Seonghwa’s pupils are blown wide, his irises almost black. It’s flattering, how turned on he is just by a single kiss from Hongjoong.

“Lie down with me?” Hongjoong asks, his one hand rubbing the top of Seonghwa’s thigh pressed close to his own.

“You’re still healing,” Seonghwa says. It’s not a rejection.

“It’s fine. I’ll be careful,” Hongjoong promises, getting up when the tension in Seonghwa’s shoulders give out.

Seonghwa lies down silently, adjusting the pillow and stretching an arm out for Hongjoong. Hongjoong’s heart pounds, too many emotions hitting him from different directions. He sits and bites his lip as he shifts to lie down, trying not to groan from the sharp ache the movement sends up his nerves.

Seonghwa is warm against him, but when his arm settles on top of him, his fingers find a way over his stomach, cold and familiar. Hongjoong notices how Seonghwa skilfully avoids the wound, making sure that his hand doesn’t press against the still healing site.

“Okay?” He asks, his forehead pressed against Hongjoong’s nape, warm puffs of his shaky breaths relaxing into a normal rhythm quickly.

“More than okay,” Hongjoong replies, nodding, placing a hand over Seonghwa’s arm and stroking the skin with his thumb.

***

“Do you want to go on a drive with me?”

Seonghwa is fresh out of the shower, black hair drooping over his eyes, longer than Hongjoong had gotten used to. It reminds him of the first time he’d met him when his hair had hidden his eyes from view until Hongjoong had finally initiated a handshake only for sharp, pained eyes to meet his with a silent challenge.

Hongjoong pauses the movie and closes the lid of the laptop.

“Of course,” Hongjoong says, pointedly not asking Seonghwa why he felt like he needed to go out on a drive when it was past midnight on a weekday.

Eden had put them on a mandatory two month long break, promising that he’d call Seonghwa in if they were short on agents, that until then they were to lie low, especially with how Hongjoong was injured. Every day without a message from the senior agent was like a salve on Hongjoong’s throbbing side because he didn’t want Seonghwa to deal with the guilt on his own, not when he’d been shot because of no fault of the other. Seonghwa apologized to him everyday, hiding the weighty words under silly excuses like not asking before he laid down with him or making coffee instead of tea. Hongjoong couldn’t bring himself to say that no apologies were necessary, not when Seonghwa’s eyes begged him to just stay silent and let him do his thing.

“Should I change?” Hongjoong asks, knee-walking to the edge of the bed and straightening up.

Seonghwa shakes his head, standing in the middle of the room with all of his attention on Hongjoong, hair still wet. He didn’t have to change which meant that they wouldn’t be stopping anywhere.

Seonghwa was having one of those days then, Hongjoong figures. It’s the first time he’s invited Hongjoong to join though. Hongjoong only remembers one too many nights when he’d hear the front door click shut and he’d be up in record time, dragging his blankets to the living room and lying down on the couch until Seonghwa would return before the sun rose.

Hongjoong hadn’t asked where he went so late in the night. He wasn’t asked or forced to be obligated to stay up for him in any way, but one of those nights Seonghwa had told him that he went on drives at night to clear his head. Hongjoong remembers nodding and thanking him for telling him and retreating to his room.

In the present though, Hongjoong walks to him and tugs on the fluffy fabric until Seonghwa lets it go. He puts his hand on his forehead and pushes it back, clicking his tongue in disappointment.

“Did you even _ try _ to dry your hair?” 

Seonghwa doesn’t answer, bending his neck to adjust to Hongjoong’s height, shifting to keep his legs a little further apart.

Hongjoong smiles fondly before he moves his hands in a way that doesn’t pull the skin over his wound much but still manages to dry his hair. It’s become a thing, drying Seonghwa’s hair for him when he was in his room. Sometimes Seonghwa would seek him out, other times Hongjoong would initiate without question. 

The memory of the first time he’d done this is stark, but he likes to think that Seonghwa isn’t in constant agony like that now. He isn’t certain because as clear as Seonghwa’s tells have become easier for him to understand, there are things he’ll clam up so expertly in that even if Hongjoong pries at it with thin fingers, his willpower and all his might, it wouldn’t show the cracks in his facade any better.

Seonghwa has this particular determined glint in his eyes when Hongjoong removes the towel after thumbing his hair and deeming it to be satisfyingly dry.

Seonghwa helps him into their car a few minutes later and looks at him with an apology, one that Hongjoong doesn’t know the reason behind. He hopes it’s not for the actions of a wretched man because he’s made it clear that he would do anything if it meant he could take the weight off of Seonghwa if only for a while. 

The drive through the streets brings deja vu that soaks his bones in a pool of memories, all associated with Seonghwa with only a handful he can link with his best friends, he treasures both equally. Seonghwa doesn’t look to be in a hurry, but his knuckles are ghostly white where they’re curled around the steering in the light of the streetlamps which light their path, the bright white glow spreading far enough that it illuminates the inside of the car in random spurts of dull gold.

Hongjoong tries to get Seonghwa to say something, but he is largely unfocused so he stops after a few minutes into the drive, letting the ballad on the late night radio play at low volume to stop himself from falling asleep. He can feel Seonghwa’s glance on him every few minutes.

Nearly an hour and a half later, Seonghwa pulls over in front of a building near an intersection. Hongjoong had figured a few minutes into the drive that it was not going to be just them driving around aimlessly, that Seonghwa probably had a destination in mind. Seonghwa lets out a shaky breath beside him, one of his hands coming to cup Hongjoong’s knee. Though the gentle touch looked like it was for calming Hongjoong down, glancing at his boyfriend’s other hand which was still white with how hard he’s clutching the steering and the way he was avoiding eye contact, Hongjoong understands that it was more for Seonghwa than for Hongjoong, but he isn’t complaining, staying still and hesitantly placing his hand on top of Seonghwa’s, squeezing lightly.

Seonghwa turns to face him, a million thoughts crossing his eyes before he turns away, sharp eyes losing focus as he stares at something behind Hongjoong with an anguished look. For some reason, Hongjoong feels his all senses tingle like it was preparing for a physical blow.

It’s an average-sized building, all glass panels and concrete, what looked to be maroon shutters pulled down inside the glass, obstructing the interior from view. Hongjoong squints at the dark loopy board on the top, the lights which were supposed to be illuminating the letters already switched off in favor of energy saving or because of the late hour. 

It’s a boutique, Hongjoong figures. 

Another look at Seonghwa helps him put things together staggeringly quickly.

Hongjoong barely keeps himself together from losing it, trying to put his poker face on and act completely and utterly blind to the exact events which had conspired here which had inevitably turned Seonghwa into the man Hongjoong had beside him today.

“I know,” Seonghwa says, staring at the dashboard intensely.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong begins, immediately scrambling for purchase, for some way he can explain himself.

Seonghwa shakes his head insistently.

“No, it’s… it’s okay. I knew Yeosang wouldn’t have left this easily if he didn’t trust you and the only way he’d trust you is if you knew. It doesn’t help that you keep looking at me like I’m gonna keel over and die from grief.” Seonghwa smiles sadly when he finally makes eye contact again.

Hongjoong feels the breath get knocked right out of his lungs. He feels a little like an idiot too.

_ Of course _ Seonghwa knew. Why _ wouldn’t _ he?

“This is where he... where they thought… I’m…” Seonghwa trails off, visibly rattled as he pulls his hair and punches the steering when words fail him.

Hongjoong holds his breath for Seonghwa to take his time and calm down. He doesn’t dare move, not when it seemed like Seonghwa was ripping himself into the atoms he was made of just to give Hongjoong what he thought he needed to.

“This is where they killed him,” he finally says after a good few minutes have passed.

“Yang had told me that he was an experienced agent, that we’d work well together. Jaehyung was a good man, made sure to close the eyes of the people we killed, taught me that as soon as a person was dead, they were just another human being and had to be treated like one. He taught me everything I needed to learn to not lose my sanity and a little later, when Yeosang was picked up by the Moscow base for training, he turned out to be the only person I had.”

Hongjoong can tell by how Seonghwa is trying not to break down completely, his voice quivering and wobbling with every word out of his mouth, that whoever his partner was, he was a man worth a whole lot of love and respect. Hongjoong hasn’t seen him, except for the visual from the screen taken moments before he was turned into a target practice for some psychos who had no mercy. 

“It was a gang sabotage mission. Jaehyung got injured on a mission before that, so Eden asked him to sit out for this one. He called Yeosang back in and we went undercover for a week. Jaehyung followed some leads and informed us. We went in for the kill, took the whole base down. We didn’t know the repercussions then. God, Hongjoong, I _ wish _ I did. I wish I _ knew _.”

Hongjoong leans over, daring to keep one hand on Seonghwa’s clenched fist. Seonghwa’s eyelashes are wet as he blinks at him. Hongjoong doesn’t understand how someone so thoroughly wrecked by the world could still look so beautiful, so _ strong _ because Seonghwa did, despite everything he was strong and from strength came the kind of beauty not many people could ever hope to attain.

Seonghwa was an anomaly and Hongjoong wanted everything he was willing to give him and give him everything he had.

“I… The mission was done, but then Yeosang received a death threat out of nowhere. That apparently we had messed with the wrong person and that penance was in order. We thought nothing of it. Eden assigned us another mission. He didn’t know either that this was associated with the same gang that Beomseok had been getting his goods from. We took them down. It was so _ easy _.”

Seonghwa breathes in deeply, shaking his head like he was just reliving a memory and wanted nothing to do with it, like he wanted no part in it anymore. Hongjoong wishes it was that easy for him.

“And then one day, Jaehyung came home and told me that he’d been receiving messages on his personal cell. Yeosang tried to track the number, but it was too well concealed for him to crack. The messages stopped after a couple of days, and we didn’t try to track down the person once Yeosang found the server and said that it was a prank VPN service. It looked too good to be true but we didn’t realize it then and there were always other missions, other priorities.”

Hongjoong can see the tears escaping Seonghwa’s eyes, his breath catching on his words, but he remembers how Yeosang had told him that Seonghwa hadn’t talked to anyone about this, so he stays quiet and doesn’t interfere.

Seonghwa laughs. If a sound could ever describe agony, Hongjoong would say it was this, Seonghwa’s bright, deep voice cracking and giving up on him.

“Two days later, we were at the grocery store and he was saying something stupid, talking about how he was going to buy only dragon plushies for his son when he went home so that he would recognize me when I finally agreed to visit his family. One moment I was laughing and the next…”

Seonghwa cracks, putting his head in his hands and hunching over like he’d been shot in the stomach. Hongjoong feels his lip wobble before he breaks down too, leaning over the console to hug Seonghwa. Hongjoong bites his lip in pain at seeing Seonghwa in such anguish and at how he feels the stitches pull and rip as he hugs Seonghwa, the gear shift digging into the side.

Seonghwa’s frame rattles with his loud sobs, and Hongjoong hates seeing him like this, but he holds him, well aware that Seonghwa hasn’t allowed anyone to see him breakdown like this and hold him through it. Hongjoong wishes they could have done this at home, but a part of him understands why coming to the site was so important to Seonghwa.

It was his attempt at connecting utter and complete agony with Hongjoong, of letting his past and present reconcile.

“I saw, Seonghwa. I _ saw _ . You don’t have to relive it again. Yeosang showed me, but it wasn’t your fault, Seonghwa. I promise. It wasn’t,” Hongjoong pleads, trying to convince Seonghwa of how everything that had happened wasn’t his fault. “They were monsters for doing that to him, for doing that to you, and I know that no matter the preparations and emotional reinforcements we place on ourselves, it will all fail at the prospect of a loss of someone we love. We can’t help it. We might run with the wolves and remember our codenames before we think of our birth names and feel more comfortable with a gun than a cup of tea in our hands, but we’re human, Seonghwa. _ You’re _ human. You’re not _ invincible _ . Your partner wasn’t either and I _ know _ it hurts, it probably will for a _ long _ time, but I’m here for you. I need you to understand that you were _ not _ at fault for that happening to him. There was _ nothing _ you could have done.”

Seonghwa shakes violently under him and Hongjoong clutches him tighter, desperate and hurting. He feels a wetness on his side, soaking through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt and the hoodie he’d pulled over it, but he ignores it.

Seonghwa will _ always _ be his priority.

“He had a home to go to, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa chokes out, straightening up slowly, Hongjoong retreating to the passenger seat but still leaning forward to give comfort if need be.

“A family. He had a family to go back to. We were supposed to have some time off after another mission. He’d called his wife minutes before he… He had people who loved him, Hongjoong. People who wanted him to return. I didn’t have anyone. The choice was obvious. I was the one who wiped them out. The only reason they sent them threats was because they wanted me to be scared. I ignored all the signs and I killed… I killed him, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong shakes his head emphatically, leaning in and cupping Seonghwa’s face, more tears escaping him at how he could feel that Seonghwa was still shaking. “_ No _ , no. You had Yeosang. You had people who wanted you to stay. Maybe you didn’t have family to go back to, but you had people who loved you. He did too, I know, but you can’t look at it like this, Seonghwa. What happened was terrible, but it was not _ your _ fault. You were doing your job. You can’t blame yourself like this, Seonghwa. _ Please _.”

Seonghwa doesn’t look convinced at all, staring at him with his wet eyelashes, face swollen from crying. Hongjoong wonders how long it would take to convince him of the truth. 

He had all the time in the world and if he had to spend a lifetime doing it, he would do it without question.

Hongjoong doesn’t move to break eye contact with Seonghwa despite the sting on his side and every muscle in his torso asking him to stop straining.

“I didn’t… I didn’t even go for his funeral, Hongjoong. I’m so fucked up.”

Hongjoong shakes his head again.

“No, you aren’t. You weren’t _ ready _. There’s a difference.”

Seonghwa’s poorly built up facade crumbles again as he leans into Hongjoong’s space and embraces him, his arms tight around him. Hongjoong can’t help the groan escaping him at the pain which shoots up his spine, making his head spin. 

Seonghwa flinches away, staring at his bloody hands, now trembling even more.

“Hongjoong…”He trails off, plastering himself to his seat with utter horror written clear on his face.

Hongjoong squeezes his eyes shut and opens them.

“I think I pulled a stitch, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong finally says.

“And you didn’t think it was necessary to tell me… I… Fuck. _ Fuck _.”

Hongjoong grabs Seonghwa’s hands by his wrists and looks him in the eye.

“Listen to me. We’ll go home and you can fix it for me. I’ve had worse and I can handle it, but this conversation… it needed to happen, okay?”

Seonghwa nods after a long moment, turning his head and freeing his hand to hold Hongjoong’s hand to press a kiss against his wrist.

“Let’s go home, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says. Seonghwa hums an agreement, looking haggled and exhausted. He wipes the blood on top of his sweatpants and twists the keys, letting the engine roar to life. 

Hongjoong is not alone when he casts a look back at the building which had a mass of memories Seonghwa would never grow out of.

Things would get better. Hongjoong would make it a point.

But healing and forgiving, it would take a long time before Seonghwa would find himself capable of that. 

Driving away from here was only the first step.

***

It’s not that Hongjoong consciously does it or seeks it out, but Yeosang’s words before the eventful day open a door, especially with the amount of time he has to himself with his injury. Having to do nothing after years of not having this much time to himself is a task in itself and the state of forced indolence doesn’t help his mounting concern for Seonghwa. Combined with the select words Yeosang used when they were alone that night along with the many hints he’d dropped before he left, Hongjoong can’t help but worry constantly.

Seonghwa isn’t the type to divulge all his concerns all at once, choosing to stay as vague and equivocal as he can and it’s just for double checking if Seonghwa has had any other mishaps he’d swept under the rug that Hongjoong first logs into the database. It’s not the same channel as the one Yeosang and Mingi had access to, but it had enough and more information about other agents. It wasn’t like anyone could look anyone up and call it a day. Their profiles could be accessed only by the people they added to the in-list. Hongjoong, being Seonghwa’s partner, had been given access to everything in his profile when they’d agreed to work as permanent partners.

It was only out of respect for Seonghwa’s space and the boundaries that he’d set up pretty early that Hongjoong had kept away from the profile for so long. Right now though, he feels like looking through it once wouldn’t hurt. He didn’t want things to spiral into a disaster again, for everything to come down to taunting, abduction and Seonghwa kneeling in front of men who didn’t deserve to even _ breathe _ the same air as him.

Hongjoong tries to ignore how young Seonghwa looks in the profile. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen yet, but he can’t help but let his gaze zoom in on the passport size photo before he scrolls down. He skims past family background and history to the section where usually compromised missions were stated.

It’s like an unknown weight lifts from his shoulder when he sees the singular tab with a familiar mission ID from the file Eden had handed them the last time they were in his office. He clicks on it and makes sure to read through the almost painfully clinical mission report as well as all the affiliated missions.

It isn’t something he expects, the link to an account number and Seonghwa’s personal account number. There are a series of transactions, almost half of Seonghwa’s salary going to the same account on a monthly basis. KQ pays well, Hongjoong is aware. He had more money than he knew what to do with and Seonghwa was on the same payroll as him, but why Seonghwa would send money to anyone when he didn’t have family or many friends boggles his mind.

Hongjoong scrolls down, noticing how the transactions had begun a month after the mission going awry and Seonghwa dealing with the aftermath with Yeosang’s support. 

Clicking back to the home page of the database, he clicks on the enquiry page. He types in the account number and feels like the wind gets knocked out of him when the profile of the person appears.

It’s a woman. Jaehyung’s wife to be specific.

Seonghwa had been doing _ everything _ he could to repent for something he didn’t even do. 

Hongjoong sighs heavily as he stares at the woman’s face, knowing quickly that he had to do something to fix this mess.

Hongjoong’s eyes hook on the address. 

Maybe this was a sign.

***

Hongjoong really doesn’t intend to ambush Seonghwa into coming, but it is what ends up happening. The drive to Gwangju is populated with silence and the occasional glance at each other. Seonghwa hadn’t even asked why they were going to Gwangju, just looking up at him curiously before he deemed whatever was on Hongjoong’s face convincing enough to agree on one condition.

That Hongjoong wouldn’t drive.

With the newly added stitches, Hongjoong wouldn’t have tried to anyway, unless this was a life and death situation, which it wasn’t. He hoped to keep it that way for a long time.

Seonghwa had slept well the night before so he doesn’t look entirely like Hongjoong had dragged him from the grave, but his eyes always have his glint of pain like it had been there for so long that it had made alliance with Seonghwa and merged with his emotions, becoming a constant that would stay that way even if Hongjoong found a way out for him.

“Take a left here, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, setting his phone down, silently egging himself on to be confident and strong enough to prepare for whatever Seonghwa’s reaction was.

Seonghwa nods and turns the wheel, driving ahead while rapidly glancing towards Hongjoong every other second for a sign to stop. Hongjoong gestures to him to pull over in front of the house in the address as soon as his eyes land on the board placed under the vines curling around the small gate.

“Are we visiting someone?” Seonghwa asks, turning the key, the engine dying. 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong hums, wondering if giving him a heads up would be good or if he should still take the chance to back out when he had the time.

Seonghwa’s eyes shift a little, like he’s suddenly weighing his options and is unsure of why he’s here.

“Hongjoong, where are we?” Seonghwa asks, looking around wildly. 

When his gaze lands back on Hongjoong, he knows he’s figured it out.

“No, no,” he says, voice thinning in horror as he looks up at Hongjoong. “Tell me you didn’t. No, please. I can’t…”

Hongjoong’s heart clenches, aches and stumbles over into the ocean, but he knows that this was a long time coming. He has no idea how the woman was going to respond, but if Seonghwa had been sending them money thinking that was going to be enough, instead of visiting them and offering his condolences, he was going about the path of healing the wrong way. Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference but if Jaehyung really was as fond of Seonghwa as he seemed to be, Hongjoong had a feeling that this would go well.

And maybe, Seonghwa would finally _ see _.

“I know this is hard for you. But you need to start somewhere, Seonghwa. You need to let yourself understand that this wasn’t your fault. Sending them a fixed amount of money every month isn’t the kind of consolation they want. You were his partner. Don’t you think she would want to see you at least once?”

Seonghwa freezes and blinks once as if a slow realization has finally dawned upon him.

“Who in their right mind would _ want _ to see the person who let their husband die right in front of them?” Seonghwa asks, gritting his teeth, clearly frustrated.

“Who _ wouldn’t _ want to see the person their husband worked with for years, especially if they know that this might have affected the person as much as it did them?” Hongjoong counters.

“Hongjoong…” Seonghwa’s eyes are shining now, already filling with tears.

“We can go back right _ now _ if you want. But if we do, I _ know _ you will never do this, not on your own. You will spend a lifetime hurting yourself because of something which shouldn’t have happened, something you had no control over, Seonghwa. I know you enough to know that, but I intend to stay with you for as long as I’m alive, and I love you too much to see you die a little inside everyday. You have to give yourself time to heal but it won't happen if you don't try to convince yourself that it isn't your fault. You told me you didn’t go to his funeral. You didn’t give them any closure either, Seonghwa, something both you and they deserved.” Hongjoong exhales deeply, holding back the urge to let himself bend to Seonghwa’s will and ask him to drive far away from here.

But he won’t.

He was doing this for Seonghwa.

Maybe he would sleep a little better with this particular element out of the way, but at the end of the day, this was for Seonghwa, not for himself.

“Okay,” Seonghwa says after a few minutes have passed with his fist clenching and relaxing in his lap. It's easy to understand that he's not completely on board, but there must have been something which made him agree. Seonghwa could be incredibly stubborn if he wanted to be and if he agreed, Hongjoong considers that a win.

It’s Hongjoong who rings the bell on the pillar next to the gate. He hears what sounds like the voice of a kid screaming for his mother and immediately regrets the decision to bring Seonghwa around for a moment before he manages to steel his resolve.

The door opens, a woman looking worse for wear and a few years older than them, coming out. There’s a little boy who is clinging to her thigh as she smiles at him and pats his head, walking to the gate without struggling as much as she should have. She was probably used to the action then, Hongjoong figures.

There’s the sound of a sharp intake of breath from beside him, Seonghwa’s hand grabbing his and looping their fingers together. Hongjoong squeezes back reassuringly.

The woman opens the gate without looking through the peephole latch and Hongjoong can’t help the concern that takes over him. It isn’t his intention to be patronizing, but he and his colleagues didn’t put their lives on the line every day for people to throw caution to the wind. There was only so much they could do. He figures that if the conversation is civil, which is the highest standard he expects for this interaction, he’d warn her to be a little more cautious.

Standing in front of them like this, knowing the loss she has suffered, Hongjoong can see the exact way it has impacted her. There are bags under her eyes, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d assume that the event which toppled over her life had happened mere days ago and not an year and a half ago.

“Can I help you?” She asks, eyes flickering over Hongjoong because Seonghwa’s gaze is fixed resolutely on the ground.

“Joohyun-ssi?” Hongjoong asks just for the sake of it. She nods in confirmation. He doesn’t miss the way her gaze flickers to their entwined hands.

“I’m... “ Seonghwa begins but his voice doesn’t carry through, raising his head for the first time since Hongjoong rang the bell.

Recognition flashes across Joohyun’s face.

“Park Seonghwa,” she says, shock evident in her voice.

“Come in,” she says after a pause when Seonghwa merely gapes at her as if wondering why she was being so calm.

Hongjoong doesn’t let his hold on Seonghwa’s hand loosen except for when they’re taking their shoes off, reconnecting them right after. The boy hides behind his mother before she turns to him and asks him to go play in his room.

Seonghwa was looking at him with so much longing in his eyes that Hongjoong almost wishes that Joohyun would have let him stay, but she must have figured that the conversation was going to be loaded.

“How have you been?” Joohyun begins, looking at Seonghwa. Her tone is warm, almost motherly. Seonghwa’s lip trembles before he reins himself in.

“I’m… I’m alright, noona.” He isn’t, Hongjoong knows that, but it’s not his place to intrude.

She gives him a skeptical look. Hongjoong gets it as soon as she does it.

_ You don’t look alright _, it seemed to say.

“Who’s this?” Joohyun’s looking at him now, her hands curling around the tea cup. She’d brought chamomile tea for them in the time they’d taken to settle in, eyes flicking over every framed picture in the living room of the man who’d been lost way too early.

Hongjoong could answer instead of Seonghwa, but something in Joohyun’s voice asks him to stay silent, to let Seonghwa talk.

“This is Hongjoong. He’s my boyfriend and…” Seonghwa struggles before he whispers, “He’s my partner.”

Seonghwa tenses right after he says it, like he’s expecting a physical blow.

Joohyun only nods slowly, sending a small smile in Hongjoong’s direction which he returns.

“That’s great, Seonghwa,” Joohyun says, lowering her head a little to meet his gaze, reassuring and warm.

“You didn’t come for the funeral,” Joohyun says after a tense moment. Seonghwa freezes as soon as the words are out of her mouth. She waits for a response before sighing as if she is aware that a response is the last thing on Seonghwa’s mind.

“I think I know why you couldn’t attend, and as much as I wished you were there, I know it is unfair to ask that of you. Especially after…” she trails off, clearing her throat and regaining her composure. Hongjoong feels so incredibly sad for her, but he also feels proud because this was a woman who lost her entire world and stayed fighting and winning against herself.

Hongjoong could never.

“I looked for ways to contact you for months, but Eden, your senior agent asked me to wait. He told me that if you ever felt like you could face me, you’d come. I’m glad you did, Seonghwa. I want you to stop sending us money every month. I haven’t touched a penny from it. I don’t want it. All I want is for you to forgive yourself and to thank you for staying with him till the end, for being a friend to him, for being a brother, for being his solace when things got hard.”

There is a steady stream of tears down her face as she says the words. However, her voice doesn’t wobble or shake as she says them.

“I hope you know that I’ve never blamed you. I never will. Losing him was hard, but I knew what I was stepping into when I married him. More than all that, I’m sorry you had to see him die.”

The last statement is blunt, but it is necessary, Hongjoong thinks. Next to him, there’s a quiet choking sound before Seonghwa leans forward, sobbing uncontrollably. Hongjoong pulls him up, hugging him and letting him cry against his chest, the side of his sweater and neck soaking through with Seonghwa’s tears. It’s impossible to watch Seonghwa cry keeping a straight face, and so Hongjoong gives up on it and lets himself give in quietly.

Joohyun keeps her gaze on the ceiling, giving them the space they want. Hongjoong is grateful.

Seonghwa’s tears won’t diminish the pain he’d felt all these months, but this time it’s from knowing that at least the person who should have blamed him for what happened doesn’t. It’s from a kind of forgiveness that he didn’t think he deserved, not until he had been given it. 

Hongjoong shuts his eyes and holds Seonghwa tighter. It’s all he can do.

“Thank you,” Seonghwa whispers against his neck.

Hongjoong nods against him, letting his hand card through Seonghwa’s hair.

Joohyun asks them to visit Jaehyung’s grave someday when they can find the time for it. 

One look at Seonghwa and Hongjoong knows that it would take more time than this for him to convince him into doing it.

That’s alright, Hongjoong thinks.

One step at a time.

***

It isn’t quick.

Healing that is.

It takes time. 

It’s freezing under Seonghwa during the next field mission they get and having to lie there asking him, begging him to come to his senses in fear and desperation as compromised flashes in his brain a million times over.

It’s shoving his laptop away to the side of the bed and cradling Seonghwa to his chest when the static in his head gets too much and Seonghwa just needs someone to hold him.

It’s letting Seonghwa hole up in his room for days, biting down the urge to intervene.

It’s knowing when an intervention is needed when days are spent leaning against the wall outside Seonghwa’s room at night, wondering what kind of new nightmares his brain was building for him.

It’s waking up to sunlight and Seonghwa’s warm smile on some days and his gun and Seonghwa’s panicked gaze on the others.

It’s knowing when to start, to pause, to stop, to let Seonghwa have his time and space, to let him come to him if necessary.

It’s barging into his room and demanding to be cuddled, not for his sake but for Seonghwa’s.

It’s sighing into a kiss when Seonghwa initiates it.

It’s fighting when Seonghwa begs him to stop putting him first and giving in quickly.

It’s being there for him and letting him be there for himself.

It’s loving him and being loved back.

***

“You’re a whiny baby,” Hongjoong says into the phone, shaking his head at Wooyoung’s offended gasp. His cheek is pressed against Seonghwa’s bare chest and he can feel even the slightest movement of the other beneath his skin.

“That’s not fair, hyung. If I am whiny, you have to call San whiny too,” Wooyoung counters.

Hongjoong can_ hear _ the pout in his voice and he’d argue more, but Seonghwa’s hand was rubbing his stomach and it was so fucking _ comfortable _ that he just wanted to sleep in his arms forever.

“Wooyoung-ah, tell me what’s happening,” Hongjoong finally asks, knowing that his best friend was not beating around the bush for no reason at all. They’d been able to afford just a measly few minutes on the phone when he was in the hospital. Their mission was still a priority, so he’d understood why they couldn’t make it back. He’d informed them of all the developments in his life, especially regarding Seonghwa, when they met up a day after their mission was complete.

Both San and Wooyoung had been looking haggard but he’d chalked it up to the three month long mission and listening to Wooyoung now, he feels concern bloom and expand inside.

Wooyoung lets out a heavy sigh on the other side.

“It’s San. He’s been a little distant after we came back from the mission.”

Hongjoong can hear the fear in Wooyoung’s voice and he taps Seonghwa’s hand, the other man taking his hand away as Hongjoong sits up, pressing the phone closer to his ear even if he can hear Wooyoung just fine. 

_ Distance. _

San _ never _ kept distance from Wooyoung. 

Hongjoong had spent his high school and college years constantly teasing them about their inability to exist out of each other’s spaces. They were like that disgustingly affectionate married couple who was stuck in the honeymoon phase forever and as much as Hongjoong complained about it, he never meant any harm, rooting for them ever since they’d gotten together even if he was skeptical of San at first. They’d come together like magnets and had never left each other’s force field since.

Hearing Wooyoung was worried about this would be a trivial thing if he didn’t know San so well.

“Maybe he’s tired or something.”

It sounds like bullshit even to Hongjoong’s own ears.

“Hyung, he’s not even talking to me properly. We haven’t had sex in _ two _ weeks. The most we’ve gone without sex for that long is when I went for that stupid mission. I initiate a kiss and he responds for a bit before he says an excuse and slips away before anything happens. Worse, he knows I know but he won’t even let me talk to him. He’s out constantly and comes in late. I ask him where he was and he says he was at the gym or that he went to see his friends. He doesn’t have any friends except us!”

Wooyoung breathes heavily on the other end of the line. Hongjoong can tell that he’s on the verge of tears. 

Wooyoung could be lethal on the field. He was quick on his feet, quicker than even San and could unload a whole magazine into someone’s head before they could say their name. He was brutal with his hits and never doubted himself. On the field, he was the ideal agent. San was too.

Their real weakness was each other. The only place Wooyoung would completely let himself go was in San’s arms where he really rested, protected and calm. It worked the other way around too. Over the years, Hongjoong had only seen the intimacy grow to a level he hadn’t seen anyone else get to. As such, this kick from reality feels jarring, an undesirable distortion he didn’t see coming.

“Wooyoung, maybe he needed some space,” he says softly.

Wooyoung sobs, little gasps audible through the phone.

“It’s _ San _ , hyung,” Wooyoung says like the name itself says enough and it does. Hongjoong knows. “We’ve been together for nine years. He’s _ never _ needed space from me, not like this. He won’t even look me in the eye.”

Hongjoong feels gutted, at a loss as to what he can say to possibly console his best friend. He was going to find Choi San and skin him alive.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” 

Wooyoung is silent before there’s the sound of shuffling, like he is walking somewhere.

“No. I just… Hyung, do you think that maybe he doesn’t want me… want me anymore? Like, the mission… Just… I’ve been a mess for so long. What if he can’t handle it anymore?”

Hongjoong sees red. One mission wasn’t going to be the reason his best friends who also happened to be high school sweethearts would drift apart. He had more faith in San than that. Wooyoung did too, but with the kind of things they saw on the daily, he knows that it is easy to assume the worst.

Seonghwa squeezes his shoulder as if he was aware that Hongjoong was getting riled up.

“Jung Wooyoung, you listen to me right now. San would _ never _. He would never do that to you. He has been through hell and back with you. Maybe he needs some space to clear his head, but San would rather walk straight into fire than do this to you. That said, I am going to kill him when I see him.”

Wooyoung chuckles sadly. 

The doorbell rings and Seonghwa gets up, pulling his t-shirt on as he leaves the room. Hongjoong briefly wonders who would visit them here. Not many people knew about this place. It’s a fresh memory which makes him get up and follow Seonghwa out the door.

“I’m not kidding, Wooyoung-ah. He wouldn’t. He loves you too much to do that.”

Wooyoung sighs. Hongjoong doesn’t have to see him to know that he’s nodding. It was a thing they usually did after all.

“I know. I know,” Wooyoung repeats before he mumbles about taking a shower and lying down for a while. Hongjoong hangs up supporting the option.

The front door shuts with a click as he waddles to the living room. 

Standing smack dab in the middle of the room is San, Seonghwa hovering behind him looking lost. Hongjoong steels his expression.

“You have two minutes to explain why you’ve been ghosting your boyfriend and soulmate of nine years.”

San smiles, lips trembling as he attempts a shrug.

Hongjoong wants to close the distance and hug him, but he needs an explanation first. Making Wooyoung feel like shit wasn’t something he allowed anyone to do.

Not even San.

“I bought a ring,” San says, shifting his feet. Hongjoong sees Seonghwa gape at San like he’d suddenly grown three heads.

“Fucking jewelry is why you’ve been avoiding him. God, San! We get paid well. What’s the big deal? Wooyoung isn’t a miser either. Just tell him. Why are you being an idiot?” Hongjoong yells, frustration hiking with every moment San spends opening and closing his mouth. 

All of this bullshit over a stupid _ ring _of all things.

Seonghwa approaches him, walking past San.

“Hongjoong, I think he means _ the _ ring,” Seonghwa states calmly.

“What ring?”

San smiles nervously at him. Seonghwa raises an eyebrow.

_ Fuck. _

Fuck.

_ The ring, huh. _

“I wanna marry him, hyung. I want him forever.”

That sure was one way to put it. Hongjoong lets out a nervous laugh and walks to San, hugging him.

“You better make it worth it. He’s coming to all the wrong conclusions,” Hongjoong says, gently patting San’s hair.

San nods against his shoulder.

“I promise,” he says.

Later, after they’re done with the hug fest and settle down, San tells them about the plan. It wasn’t elaborate or anything. San wanted to propose at their apartment, considering how they’d been staying there for the past few years. The apartment had seen them go through some major issues and resolutions and he had felt like asking Wooyoung to marry him anywhere but there felt wrong. San had figured out all the variables in the past two weeks.

Proud is an understatement for how far both San and Wooyoung had come together.

Hongjoong wants to curl into a ball and bawl his eyes out. He probably is going to do it at the wedding.

“I need your help in getting him out of the apartment. There’s some stuff I want to do,” San says seriously, but Hongjoong thinks he looks like the same kid from sophomore year who’d threatened to sock the girl who made fun of Wooyoung for wearing a long earring.

“I can do that,” Hongjoong says. Getting Wooyoung out of the apartment was only a free chicken offer away. Since he wasn’t in the best mood, maybe he’d have to add pastry to the offer, but it would work, he was certain.

San bites his lip before he turns to Seonghwa.

“Hyung, I… I was thinking if you’d be willing to help me arrange things at the apartment while Hongjoong hyung is out with Wooyoung.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widen in shock as he tilts his head as if in an attempt to figure out if what he’s hearing is true. Hongjoong nods encouragingly.

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa asks, fiddling with his hands.

“Of course! I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure,” San says, smiling gently.

“I want both of you there when I propose to him,” San continues like he never stopped.

Hongjoong's first response is to shake his head.

“No. This is personal, San, very personal. We’re happy for you but there's no need to include us when it's supposed to be a moment for the both of you.” 

Hongjoong is not sure if their presence will be optimal for the proposal to go well. He knows Wooyoung's answer already, but this is supposed to be their moment. As much as he knew his best friends loved him, he didn’t want to intrude on such a huge event.

"Hyung, you've been family for a long time. I _ need _ you there and we both know that Seonghwa hyung is important to you. That automatically makes him family too. Believe me, Wooyoung would have zero complaints."

Hongjoong throws a questioning glance at Seonghwa who nods after a moment of contemplation.

San beams at them, his hands spinning the dark blue velvet box.

***

It goes like this.

Wooyoung doesn't suspect anything even if Hongjoong's quick announcement over the phone that they were going out to eat the sadness away was a sudden and uncharacteristic request from him. Hongjoong figures that the younger probably thought he was trying to cheer him up. 

Wooyoung isn't dolled up like he usually tended to be when they meet up at the diner, and Hongjoong wishes he could let him know that San wasn't planning on leaving him, that he was planning on staying forever. 

Conversation moves slowly, and the nervous anticipation he feels for Wooyoung makes Hongjoong immediately fall back to the only topic he knew could keep the conversation going until San or Seonghwa texts him to let him know that the coast is clear.

Hongjoong talks about Seonghwa. 

He watches Wooyoung's sad smile curve into a genuine one the more he talks about him and he feels so immensely fond of his best friend for truly being happy for him. Hongjoong talks on and on about his boyfriend until the anticipated text arrives an hour and a half later. He makes a mental note to wind up, noting to his own surprise that he could talk about Seonghwa for a long time without interruptions.

"Your phone just buzzed, hyung," Wooyoung says, his gaze flicking to the item in question just as Hongjoong takes a piece of meat from his bowl and places it in the younger's.

"I saw," Hongjoong says, biting down on his lip to not dissolve into a fit of giggles because if he breaks now, San would have his head.

"Why aren't you checking it? It might be Seonghwa hyung," Wooyoung points out, skeptically squinting at the phone.

Hongjoong shrugs before giving in because Wooyoung knew his passcode and if he didn't check it now, the younger would and then, the plan would flop terribly.

Hongjoong pretends to squint at the phone like he's reading a paragraph of text instead of just the thumbs up that Seonghwa has graciously sent. He really needed to teach Seonghwa texting etiquette. 

"You're being very weird now," Wooyoung says after having shoved the chopsticks in his mouth to lick them clean of the sauce.

"Am I?" Hongjoong asks, switching his expression to one from his mission repertoire.

Wooyoung leans back in his seat and frowns harder.

"That's your mission face," he says, looking disappointed.

God, Hongjoong wants to dive into the ocean and never surface again. It was pretty ironic that even though he lived secrets on the daily, the slightest hint of scrutiny from his best friend has him crumpling to the floor in an attempt to clam down on the urge to come clean. 

"You're hiding something," Wooyoung states like he's finally realized it.

"Okay. Fuck. This shit is hard. I am hiding something, but I can't tell you because San would kill me."

Hongjoong facepalms internally.

Wooyoung's face falls.

"Oh," he says, eyes watery all of a sudden. "San huh?" He asks, smiling through the pain.

"Hey, it's nothing bad," Hongjoong assures, putting his hand over Wooyoung's fist on the table. 

"I'm not so sure about that anymore, hyung." Wooyoung gently places the chopsticks in the bowl and blinks quickly as if to keep away the tears. 

Hongjoong can do nothing except watch for now. He squeezes his hand again in a promise.

Just a few minutes more, he thinks, smiling to himself.

***

Hongjoong scrunches his nose at the scent of roses which invades his senses as soon as Wooyoung opens the door. The younger freezes in front of him before throwing him a look of confusion.

Hongjoong hoped to God that San didn't go overboard. He had faith in Seonghwa and his minimalist tendencies, but San could be dangerously convincing. He prayed that in the face of San's incredible persuasion skills, Seonghwa's strong resolve and will had won out, though the scent of Wooyoung's favorite room freshener and the abundance of it in the air told him otherwise.

_ That sneaky little brat. _

Hongjoong looks at Wooyoung and traces his gaze as it drops to the floor.

There's a trail of red rose petals on the floor, the crimson standing out against the golden brown linoleum floor. 

Wooyoung gasps audibly, not even bothering with taking his shoes off as he storms inside. Hongjoong follows close behind.

The entire living room is decked out with pictures of the pair and fairy lights and flowers. Wooyoung looks around in awe, openly sobbing now like he already had a feeling about what was going to happen. Hongjoong takes a step back as San emerges from the kitchen with what looks like a vanilla fresh cream cake.

Hongjoong bumps into someone's chest and he looks around to see Seonghwa smiling at him. He turns back around, leaning against Seonghwa as he pulls him to his side with a hand on his waist.

"Sannie," Wooyoung chokes out.

San smiles, lethal dimples coming into view, a euphoric glow taking over his face. He is nervous, Hongjoong can tell, but he looks like he's beyond happy, like years of waiting had led him to this moment. Hongjoong feels the tell-tale sting in his eyes and he blinks.

This was their moment.

San places the cake on the coffee table and walks to Wooyoung, pulling him in by his waist, Wooyoung still looking shaken. He staggers forward into San, almost tripping before San steadies him.

"I'm sorry for being a complete dick these past few weeks, but it's incredibly difficult to hide things from you. So, keeping a distance was the only option I had." 

San shoves his hands down his back pocket, letting Wooyoung go while still standing in his personal space.

"I bought this three years ago when we went on our second mission. I've been waiting to give this to you and ask you for so long, and just when I found the courage to do it, stuff came up, shitty things happened and I was left asking myself what my priorities were.”

San’s lips thin, a pained look flickering to life as he recounts what Hongjoong knows is the cursed mission which was an unpredictable bump on the road, one that crashed against Wooyoung like a tidal wave weathering down the rocks at the sea.

“I had to watch you pull yourself together from pieces. I had to see you in agony. I had to hold you when you felt like I would never want you again. I kept you close every day to let you know that I cared because I was so scared that you'd drift away if I let go even a little. I knew you were strong nine years ago, Wooyoung, when you stumbled into the chair I sat in and made us both tumble to the ground, but over the years, I've seen you become stronger with the passing of each day. Despite what you may think, I've only come to love you more with every moment I spend with you and I know for certain that I want you as long as you will have me and a long time after that. You've made me a better person. You taught me to love people. You taught me to believe in the things I cared about and best of all, you let _ me _ love _ you _. I love you so much, Young-ah. So," San pauses and kneels down, velvet box open in his trembling hands as he looks up at Wooyoung like he'd hang the moon for him, "Will you, Jung Wooyoung, do me the incredible honor of marrying me?"

Out of all the variations of an answer Hongjoong sees coming, the last thing he expects is for Wooyoung to break into another loud sob and scramble away to his room. 

Wooyoung’s always been quick on his feet, but in this moment, Hongjoong wishes with all his heart that he wasn’t.

San's face falls immediately. Hongjoong feels his heart break in two.

There's a sound of a crash from the bedroom. Hongjoong feels torn between wanting to approach San to console him and checking on Wooyoung. Seonghwa is quicker though, striding in the direction Wooyoung took off, but he halts as Wooyoung comes back running, perhaps even quicker than he’d left.

Hongjoong has never been so_ confused _ in his life.

Wooyoung collapses on both his knees in front of San, crying and smiling as he holds out another open box which looks scarily similar to the one San is holding. 

"I was supposed…” he pants, giggling and crying but glowing all the same, “I was supposed to ask first. Marry me, San?"

San chuckles, tears streaming down his face as he plucks the ring from his box, Wooyoung doing the same, boxes chucked to the side in sync.

"Only if you marry me," he says, leaning into Wooyoung's space to kiss him. Hongjoong looks away smiling at the ground, Seonghwa’s thumb rubbing circles over his sweater.

A few minutes later, when his best friends have metamorphosed from boyfriends to fiances, Hongjoong shakes his head, gaze set on the rings on their hands. Seonghwa laughs from beside him.

"Do you think they realize that they bought the same ring from the same shop at the same time?"

Seonghwa asks, turning to look back to where Wooyoung is feeding San a piece of cake. Hongjoong shakes his head again.

"Not yet. It'll happen when they finally decide to look at the rings instead of each other's faces."

Seonghwa laughs along, his hand pressing against the sensitive skin of Hongjoong's waist.

***

"I heard your best friends got engaged,” Yeosang asks, curious.

Hongjoong sighs into the phone.

“Don’t tell me you have a surveillance camera in their apartment,” Hongjoong says in mock warning.

Yeosang is silent on the other end. 

“Yeosang? Yeosang?” Hongjoong pulls the phone from his ear and looks at the screen, he’s still on the line. “Tell me you didn’t,” Hongjoong pleads, already calculating all the ways Yeosang could have done it if he really did go to those lengths.

“Your lack of faith in me boosts my ego. I don’t have a camera in their apartment, just the hallway on their floor.”

Yeosang sounds way too casual for someone who just admitted that he had control over the camera in the hallway of the apartment belonging to his best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend.

That really was a mouthful, wasn’t it?

Hongjoong worries sometimes, for the lack of knowledge of the concept of personal space, or at least the botched version of it that Yeosang seemed to uphold in all the things they did.

That said, an additional eye, especially a sharp one overlooking San and Wooyoung was good. Perhaps, he would thank him, but Yeosang would preen a little more than he already does.

Hongjoong doesn’t want his head to get any bigger than it is already.

“That’s not normal, you do know that right?” Hongjoong asks, voice light.

Yeosang laughs, a string of prominent _ haha _ streaming through the slight static which is causing some interruptions every now and then due to the crappy network.

“Normal is the last thing we are,” Yeosang says, laughing again.

“How did you know then? That San and Wooyoung got engaged?” 

There’s no way that a camera in the hallway could give him such insight.

“Your boyfriend is my best friend, in case you’re forgetting. He called,” Yeosang explains. Hongjoong hears shuffling on the other side, like Yeosang is moving around. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever say this, Hongjoong, but Seonghwa sounded happy.”

This time Yeosang’s voice lacks the teasing lilt, it’s also void of the dry sarcastic tone. Yeosang just sounds genuinely elated.

“Yeah?” Hongjoong happily sighs into the phone.

“Yeah. He talked about some things we haven’t talked about yet. About our task force squad, about the things I did when I was with him, apologized for things he didn’t need to apologize for. It was... “ Yeosang trails off.

“Nice?” Hongjoong provides, gently nudging the word across the line to the younger agent, knowing that he wasn’t very good with vocalizing his emotions.

Yeosang breathes heavily. “Yeah. It was nice.”

The word sounds alien when he says it, but he sounded like he meant it. Yeosang stays silent on the line which only meant one thing. He wasn’t going to say anything more about it.

“Where are you now? Eden told me you were on a mission, but he didn’t give me anything else to go on,” Hongjoong says, shifting the topic. There’s a deep voice whispering something that’s loud enough for him to hear but not enough to understand what the other person is saying. Yeosang whispers something back, his breathy giggles making Hongjoong’s eyebrows rise to his hairline.

“Are you with someone, Yeosang?”

Yeosang giggles again.

Was he… was he being _ tickled _?

“I’m in… hands off or I swear to God!” Yeosang’s voice is husky with a warning.

_ What the fuck was happening? _

“I’m sorry about that, hyung. I’m in Berlin with someone.”

That was vague. 

“Someone?” Hongjoong asks. As if on cue, Yeosang moans. Hongjoong flushes in embarrassment.

The deep voice mutters something again and Hongjoong’s brain crashes as it scrambles to put a face to the voice because he’s pretty sure he’s heard it before.

“Mingi, will you _ please _ stop trying to _ eat _ my neck?” Yeosang squeaks breathily.

_ Song fucking Mingi. _

Hongjoong hangs up.

***

Hongjoong leans with his hand on the glass counter, putting on his best imitation of a pleasant smile.

“Are you sure I won’t be able to do anything to meet Mr. Jung?” He pouts a little to really sell the character and distract the receptionist as Seonghwa plants the bomb in the floors guised as a cleaner.

The guards at the front door hover behind him in an attempt to intimidate him.

“I just wanted to see him once. He’s been my idol for years. I just wanted him to look through the designs and give me some critique.”

The receptionist shakes her head again, looking genuinely sorry for him. If Hongjoong didn’t know the kind of work she did for Jung Designs, he would have felt bad for her. As such, he has zero sympathy. He has a cover to keep though, so he puts his best efforts into making himself look teary-eyed.

The woman looks borderline distraught as she sighs heavily. “You need an appointment and a recommendation from a top designer to meet him. Please stop creating a scene. You’re just wasting your time here.”

Hongjoong’s pager vibrates in his pants.

Seonghwa was done then.

Hongjoong sadly flips the pages of his supposed portfolio which he’d pulled from his storage, a few designs scrapped from his final project at college and gently closes it, nodding to himself.

“Okay. I understand. Thank you,” he says, wiping his face for added effect and turns away.

“Mr. Jeon, contact Kang’s Boutique, they will be able to help you out.”

Hongjoong stops in his tracks at the sound of his cover’s last name and turns around to mumble a word of gratitude as he bites his tongue, not meaning it at all. He’s flanked by the guards as he walks outside. He doesn’t give them any attention, walking to the car Eden had given them for the mission and puts it in drive, taking a detour to the back of the building to pick Seonghwa up.

“All done?” Hongjoong asks.

Seonghwa looks a bit flushed, probably from climbing the stairs instead of the elevator, but he nods.

Hongjoong stretches over the console and kisses Seonghwa, letting his hand rest on his jaw as Seonghwa maps his mouth with his tongue for a hot second. It’s with the barest amount of self-control he has left that Hongjoong pulls away, Seonghwa moving into his space chasing his lips. Hongjoong smiles into the kiss, but rests a hand on Seonghwa’s chest to stop him.

“I don’t wanna blow our cover because we are both horny, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, still smiling when Seonghwa chokes on his spit, flustered.

Hongjoong shifts gears and drives forward in the wake of a flushed Seonghwa who was tongue-tied.

“What?” Hongjoong asks a few minutes into the drive. They’ve already pressed the button on the remote, rendering their mission complete. He glances to the side to see Seonghwa’s gaze drop to his mouth.

Seonghwa swallows and exhales deeply like he’s weighing his options as to whether to tell him what he was thinking or to pretend like there was nothing. He must decide on the former because he tilts his head in a slightly mischievous manner, something Hongjoong didn’t get to see happen often.

“I think I want to hear you scream my name.”

Hongjoong nearly loses control of the wheel. 

And if he keeps his word when they get home, no one has to know.

***

The bed is empty when Hongjoong wakes up, throat feeling parched and seeking hydration.

For the first time since Seonghwa moved in with him, eyes cast on the ground and wheeling in two trolley bags, looking like he’d walked straight in from a war, Hongjoong wakes up in the middle of the night and strolls to the kitchen only to see Seonghwa standing with his stomach pressed tight against the railing of the balcony. 

It’s a momentary lapse of judgement from Hongjoong, that Seonghwa’s aim behind staring at the ground is the same as that eventful day when he’d pulled him away from the ledge of the roof with desperate and quivering hands. Hongjoong moves quickly until he realizes when he’s a few feet away that Seonghwa was looking at the city and not the cold, hard asphalt four floors below.

Seonghwa spins on his heel and smiles at him, lips stretching slowly. Hongjoong feels the wind get knocked out of his lungs. Seonghwa puts his hand out for Hongjoong to take. He stumbles over to him, mind still looping from sleep, his warm hand meeting Seonghwa’s cold ones.

Hongjoong lets their hands go after a couple of minutes to reach up and smooth his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair. Seonghwa stretches his feet a little wider to accommodate to his height.

The air is cold as it hits them in the face and it’s close enough to dawn that the sky has started receding from the bluish grey to give way to golden and tangerine tendrils of light. Sunrise is still far away, but Hongjoong feels bright anyway.

“Had trouble sleeping?” Seonghwa asks, voice rough from disuse.

“No, I was just thirsty,” Hongjoong says, enjoying the warmth Seonghwa was emitting beside him.

Seonghwa nods to himself, pushing his hand in his pocket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes. Hongjoong shivers at the cold and the way Seonghwa looks at him, fire burning deep within him like a hearth and molten lava at the same time, comforting and too much and not enough simultaneously.

Seonghwa doesn’t ask him before he lights a cigarette, taking a deep whiff before he lets it out slowly, like he was letting the smoke sit in his lungs for a bit.

Two whiffs later, Seonghwa turns to face him. “Shotgun?”

Hongjoong laughs softly, leaning in and placing one hand on Seonghwa’s pectoral, his other hand vining around the cigarette. He makes sure he has Seonghwa’s attention when he stubs the cigarette on the metal railing and lets it fall to the ground. He can clean up later.

Seonghwa’s gaze on him has intensified, the warmth he was exuding taking a backseat as desire takes the wheel like he _ wants _ Hongjoong, but also a little surprised like he didn’t expect Hongjoong to take the cigarette and throw it away.

Hongjoong raises his gaze just barely to look Seonghwa in the eyes, dropping it promptly to his lips, letting his fingers trace random patterns on Seonghwa’s chest.

A moment passes, taut with the kind of tension which would have Seonghwa pushing him down against the mattress and letting him take everything Hongjoong can give and the kind of love which would have Seonghwa bend Hongjoong back and kiss him with a feverish kind of vigor.

Seonghwa chooses neither.

Seonghwa caresses his hair and leans in to kiss him on his forehead before a finger directs his face up from its place on his chin. When he kisses him this time, it’s like waves meeting the horizon, like he’s something precious, an aurora lighting up the Northern sky, one push, one pull and Hongjoong comes undone without so much as a word.

_ Stay with me _, Seonghwa says with one particular tangle of their tongues.

_ Stay with me until the quiet leaves and after that. _

Hongjoong swears on his life that he will.

_ Until the quiet leaves and after that. _  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and that's it~
> 
> Writing this fic was an incredible journey! As much as it pains me to wind this up, I know that this is it for them. Seongjoong deserves happiness, whichever universe it may be, and despite the tough-luck they've had, this is the only way I see this fic end~ 
> 
> I have a Minsang spin-off coming up for this fic which has been outlined and is in progress~ I hope you guys will look forward to it as well as the Woosan spin-off which will follow the Minsang fic~ 
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought in the comments and leave kudos if you liked this fic!! Thank you for reading!
> 
> Edit - 31/03/2020: I noticed that some of you guys are subscribing to this fic and I just wanted to tell you that if you want to follow my future works, please go to my AO3 profile by clicking on my username and hit subscribe. Subscribing to this fic will notify you only if_ this _fic updates and since this is complete, there won't be new updates.
> 
> Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!

**Author's Note:**

> (plays Thank you by our boys)
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought in the comments. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Come yell at me on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/wooyoungisthesun)!


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